Poison Ivy
by Terp4Life
Summary: Somehow, while chasing down the bad guys, Jane had gotten poison ivy. Luckily, Weller knows what to do. They'll be seeing a lot more of each other for a few weeks... Set between episodes 105 and 106. A fluffier, less angsty Jeller story. :) (The poison ivy part is based on my own recent experience) Rated T for language (just a little swearing).
1. Day 1 (Night)

**Disclaimer: I do not own Jane or Kurt or Blindspot. Writing about them is simply the outlet for my obsession.**

 _A/N: A few days ago, I was just a little itchy, and then suddenly those itchy spots had turned into angry welts that itched so much they hurt. So off I went to the doctor and guess what? After thirty some years since the last time, I have poison ivy! (I didn't even know that that's what it was when I had it as a kid) So here I sit, itchy and absolutely miserable and unable to think about anything except how itchy and absolutely miserable I am. So I decided to take a little break from The Aftermath (I'll be back at work on it as soon as this one is done) and let Jane go through this with me. As they say, misery loves company!_

 _This story is set early enough in season 1 that things were good between Jane and Kurt, without all the deception and secrets, but late enough that they were comfortable with each other – so somewhere between episodes 105 and 106, I think._

 _An_ _ **enormous**_ _thank you to MonkeyPajamas, for being the best cheerleader/consultant/Blindspot twin and helping keep my mind off of the itching and on the writing… as much as is possible, anyway._

Jane woke up in the dark to a quiet house. Looking around, she wasn't sure what had woken her up. According to her clock, it was only just after 1:30 am, and her house was silent. What in the world was she doing awake? That's when she felt it. She felt… itchy. Not just in one spot, but in a whole bunch of them. She got out of bed and turned on the light, inspecting the itchy spots on her skin. They weren't just itchy, they were _bumps._ Not just bumps, but rather large ones. _Where in the world did those come from? And what_ _ **were**_ _they?_

Her skin was more than a little bit lumpy under the ink of her tattoos in multiple patches on her arms and legs. Some of them were circular in shape, but many of them weren't. She had a feeling that it was the kind of thing that she wasn't supposed to scratch, and she tried her best, but when she turned off the light and got back into bed, she found that she could think of absolutely nothing else. After tossing and turning until a little after 2:00am, she reached for her phone, where it was charging on the nightstand beside her bed.

She held it in hand for a moment, staring at it. _Should I?_ she asked herself. Weller always said that she should call if she needed him, no matter what time. No conditions of any kind. If she needed him, she could just call, he had said. But for some itchy bumps? It seemed silly to call someone because she was itchy. Besides, what was he going to do about it? Wave a wand and make them go away? Besides, she hated to wake him up in the middle of the night just because she had some kind of skin condition.

Then again, this wasn't just a little itchy. The more she thought about those bumps, the more she could think of nothing else. However, she also just kept thinking about how silly she'd feel when he told her to go back to sleep and that they would get her checked out in the morning. No, there was no need to call him. She replaced her phone on the nightstand and laid back down.

However, after tossing and turning for what felt like three hours, she turned back over and looked at her clock to see that it was only 2:26 am. _It hadn't even been 25 minutes?_ Clearly, the going back to sleep thing was not working. She sat up again, feeling like the bumps were somehow growing more sensitive the longer they festered on her skin. Even though she was sure that it was only her imagination, she got up and turned the light back on to inspect them again. Even though it had been only less than an hour since the last time she looked at them, she swore that they were changing, that they were getting bigger.

 _You're delusional_ , she told herself. But no! One of them was even starting to resemble a small balloon, which she swore that it hadn't before. What that tiny, painful balloon was filled with, she certainly did _not_ want to speculate about.

Picking up her phone again and staring at it, she finally decided that she couldn't stand it any longer. Unlocking the screen, she navigated to her Favorites list in her phone app, and pressed the button that said _Kurt_. She listened to her the ringing sound once, twice, three times, and just when she thought he wasn't going to answer, he did, just before the fourth ring.

"Jane? What's wrong?"

She was so relieved to have the chance to tell him about these stupid itchy bumps, and the words started tumbling out all at once. "Kurt, I'm sorry to bother you, I just—"

"It's okay, Jane. What is it?"

"Well, there's these bumps on my skin. On my arms and my legs. Last night they were just itchy. Now they're still itchy but… now they're so itchy they actually _hurt_. And I'm not scratching them, I swear! You always tell me scratching when you have a big bump of any kind is usually a bad idea. But I'm so uncomfortable, they actually woke me up at about 1:30, and I tried to go back to sleep but I can't. All I can think about is how itchy I am. And how much it's starting to _hurt_. I didn't know else what to do besides call you… So before I clawed my skin off, I thought I should check and see if there were any other options that would be less… dangerous to my health."

Her words had come out as a barrage, and he hadn't even been able to think about getting a word in edgewise. Now that she'd finally stopped, she could hear him chuckling. "It's going to be okay, Jane. I'll come over and take a look, okay? Will that make you feel better?"

Could she admit to him that having him there _would_ make her feel better, whether he knew what those terrible bumps were, or not? No, she decided that she didn't need to say that. She'd feel really guilty if he came over, despite the fact that she actually did want him there… "No, Kurt, I… I mean, you don't have to do that. It's the middle of the night! I just… I was just hoping you could tell me what I need to do to get rid of them…"

"Well, it depends what they are. So I won't know that until I take a look. And no, you're right, I don't _have_ to come over and look at them. Would I go over and check out strange bumps on Reade or Zapata or Patterson at…" he paused, glancing at the clock beside his bed, " _2:34 in the morning?_ " It could have been her imagination, but he sounded a little extra tired when he mentioned what time it was. "No, definitely not. But for you…?" He chuckled again, but didn't finish his sentence.

 _Doesn't she understand yet that she's the exception?_ he wondered. "I'll see you in a little bit, Jane. Okay?"

"Okay," she whispered, trying not to feel guilty for waking him up and not to feel an immense sense of relief that she wouldn't be stuck wondering about those bumps alone for the next five hours or so – and despite these attempts, feeling _both_ of those things at once. She also felt a little bit like a small child who couldn't take care of herself, and she disliked that feeling most of all.

"Hang in there, Jane," he told her in a voice that was still sleepy, even after holding a conversation with her. "I'll see you soon."

"Okay, bye," she replied before hanging up. Looking around the room, she took the soft, light green blanket that was laying at the end of her bed and stood up, wrapping it around herself over her pajamas – a pair of grey cotton pants and a black tank top – and wandered downstairs in the dark, the shadow of the streetlight from just outside the window lighting her way. In the living room, she turned on the small lamp that sat on the end table at the end of the couch, folding herself into the most comfortable position she could manage, considering that the itchy bumps seemed to be feeling itchier and bumpier every minute.

Not having the patience for doing much of anything while she waited for him to arrive, she decided to distract herself by instead talking to herself about staying awake. She'd heard someone say something about reverse psychology, and how it sometimes worked on people, so she decided to try it on herself and see if she'd have any luck.

 _Wow,_ she thought to herself first, _it's a good thing I'm awake so early. I can get so much done today. I could read a book…_ She looked over at the small pile of books on the shelf across the room that Patterson had lent her. _I could watch TV…_ She glanced at the TV set in the corner that she almost never turned on. There were more than 500 channels and yet, from what she could tell, not a single good show on to watch, no matter what time it was. At least, she hadn't managed to find anything she liked. But she spent most of her time working, so that wasn't much of a surprise. People kept talking about something called Netflix, but she hadn't yet gotten around to figuring out what that was all about. That would require her to be home for more than a few waking hours at a time, and for someone to explain it to her, and she met neither of those two criteria most of the time.

 _What else could I do?_ she wondered, trying to pretend she was actually interested in doing any of these things. This wasn't easy, considering that all she wanted to do was go back to sleep. _I could… try and cook something_. She laughed at that idea, since the last thing she'd tried to cook – chocolate chip cookies – had led to her almost burning down her safe house. Kurt had actually told her that maybe she should let someone help her when she decided she wanted to cook something, at least for the next few tries. She'd pretended to be offended at his remark, but really she agreed that it was for the best.

She was quickly running out of potential activities to pretend that she wanted to do to fill up her early morning, so she got up and went to the kitchen. At least she knew that she could make herself some tea without burning the house down. After switching on the burner to heat up the water, she leaned against the counter, still clutching her blanket around her and trying not to think about how itchy she felt. Or how much like a monster all those increasingly blistery bumps made her feel.

 _It's not bad enough that I'm covered in tattoos?_ she wanted to scream. _Now I have be covered in horribly_ _ **misshapen**_ _tattoos because these stupid blisters decided to just show up on my skin?_ She was beginning to feel angry and slightly irrational, partially from discomfort and partially from exhaustion, when two things happened almost simultaneously.

First, the kettle in front of her on the stove began whistling, and only seconds later, before she could even turn off the heat under the kettle, there was a knock on the front door. Flipping the switch and leaving the hot water exactly where it was, she strode through the dining room toward the door. Thanks to having her detail out front, she could answer the door without being _too_ paranoid. Still, after that first break-in at her previous safe house, complete with a sniper attack, Kurt had _insisted_ that she take extra precautions, detail or not detail.

Because of that, she paused inside the door and peeked through the peephole, seeing exactly who she expected to see – the handsome and scruffy face of Kurt Weller, still adorably sleepy-looking, even through the peephole. Opening the door, she looked out at him and tried her best to smile, but it wasn't happening. She was simply too uncomfortable.

"Hey," she said simply, standing back to let him pass by her into the entry way.

"Hey, Jane," he replied, his face already creasing with concern. "Are you okay?"

She closed the door and turned towards him. "I'm… Yeah I guess, but I'm _so_ uncomfortable… it's not even _that_ many bumps but it feels like it's _everywhere._ And now they hurt, too!" she told him miserably. "And if they brush against something…" She closed her eyes and shuddered at the thought. "Ouch," she summarized, looking back up at him and feeling more like a little kid every second.

"Okay, let's see what we're dealing with here," he said, waving her to stand over by the lamp so he could see better. "Now, show me these bumps."

There were none of these bumps on her hands, which Kurt took in his gently, just barely holding on to them, as she turned her arms over to reveal the offending bumps. His thumbs rested squarely in the middle of her palms, while his other four fingers supported her hands lightly. His touch was so gentle and she was so mesmerized by it, that she almost forgot that he was standing in front of her to look at itchy, and now aching, bumps that had kept her up half the night. She glanced up at him at the same time that he looked at her, and she could feel her cheeks growing warm. Sure that she was blushing, she tried to cover it up with a smile – not that she could really help but smile at him just then anyway. In his eyes was a question – _Are you okay with this? –_ and in hers was the reply – _Yes._ They seemed to constantly dance on and around the line between them and which side of it they should be on.

He looked back down at the bumps on her arms, which ran from just above her wrists to just past her elbows. She'd been was right, there weren't _so many_ of them, but the ones that were there seemed to be in various stages of development. Judging from the look on her face, now that she was focused on them again, she was a little scared, in a lot of pain, or possibly both. Several of the bumps looked like small balloons against her skin, as if they were ready to burst open at any time, expelling their unpleasant, light-colored contents. Several others were still very small and didn't yet have much height to them, while a few of them fell somewhere in between.

Luckily, Kurt knew exactly what this was, and he even had a few things in the small arsenal, which he'd quickly assembled for dealing with "itchy bumps" from the cabinets at home, that would give her temporary relief until she could get in to see a doctor in a few hours.

"Jane, you have poison ivy," he told her calmly, still holding onto her hands.

 _Poison ivy?_ she thought, beginning to panic. _That sounds serious! And yet, Weller's so calm…_ She continued to stare at him nervously, waiting for an explanation.

He could see that his diagnosis wasn't helpful, since she obviously didn't know what that was, and the word _poison_ probably wasn't helping. "It's not as bad as it sounds," he told her, "I promise." She still looked skeptical, and he couldn't help but be reminded of his sister, Sarah, the first time she'd had poison ivy when they were little. Sarah had been similarly nervous. "I know, it's easy for me to say, since I don't have it."

"Most people get it as kids, though anyone can get it. There's a specific plant that secretes a particular kind of oil, and if you touch it, you get a reaction which can look like this. You obviously managed to get it on your skin at some point recently. You're actually lucky, because some people are severely allergic to it. Sawyer got it last summer when we went out to the lake for the day, and three days later his whole face puffed up… he was a pretty miserable kid for a few days. But it went away. And yours will, too."

He smiled, looking back up at her. She was still digesting what he'd just said.

"You mean, it's going to be _days_ before this goes away?" She looked crushed by this realization. He couldn't help but think that she reminded him of a little kid, and had to remind himself that this was likely the first time she had had _any_ kind of rash, at least as far as she could remember. He imagined that she felt betrayed by her own skin.

"Yes, and it's going to be uncomfortable, but you'll be okay," he told her gently. "Now, I have a few things in my bag of tricks that might help." He let go of her hands slowly, letting their hands fall almost all the way to her side while still joined before actually letting go, then turned and walked back to the paper bag he'd put on the end table when he'd come in. He rummaged through it and pulled out three different things.

"Okay," he said, holding up the first one, a smallish tube with the word Zanfel in bold print, "this is a kind of scrub that you use on the skin where it itches. It's made specifically for rashes from poison ivy and a few other related kinds of plants. It might not take away all of the itch, but it should help. According to the instructions, the most important part of applying it is that you can rinse it off completely, so depending on where your spots are, you might need to do it in the shower…" He paused and handed it to her. "We had some left over from last summer, I think."

She just nodded, taking the tube and looking at it briefly. "After that, if you're still itchy," he continued, reaching back into the bag and pulling out a pink bottle, we have Calamine lotion. This stuff has been around _forever_ , I'm pretty sure. I remember having my mom put it on me when I was a kid. I hated it, but it did the trick."

"Why did you hate it?" Jane asked curiously.

"Well, it had a very particular smell, which I didn't like, and it's pink, so Sarah would tease me that I had pink spots, and it dries on your skin and feels funny… or at least, when I was a kid I thought so. So all that together meant that I didn't like it _at all_ ," he told her. Jane smiled, trying to imagine a child sized version of Weller, trying to get away from his mom when she came after him with Calamine lotion. Of course, mentioning things that had happened that far in the past was like walking through a minefield, so neither of them commented on it further. Instead, they looked into each other's eyes for an extra few seconds before Weller turned back to the contents of the bag.

"And after _that,"_ he said, pulling out a flat, pink box, "you may or may not want Benadryl. It's used to control a lot of different allergies and allergic reactions. It works differently in different people, so it may help or it may not. The one thing that it does in almost everyone is that it makes you very tired. So, for example, if you're covered in achy bumps, you might have an easier time getting back to sleep."

Jane smiled at him, looking from the tube of Zanfel that she was holding to the Calamine lotion and Benadryl that he was holding, and then at Weller himself. He looked rather proud of himself. _And why shouldn't he?_ she thought. _I called him in the middle of the night with only a vague description of what was wrong with me, and he managed to bring three different things that could help me feel better._

"You're too good to me," she told him.

He smiled a little wider then, and she swore she saw him blushing just a little. "Not at all," he replied. "Everyone should have someone they can call at 2am when they have itchy bumps." She just shook her head, looking at him fondly, then finally back down at the Zanfel in her hands.

"Okay, well since I have these horrible bumps on my arms and my legs, I think the easiest thing to do is scrub them in the shower," she said, looking back up at him. "You don't have to hang out here. You should go back home and get a little more sleep. It's almost morning."

"Nope, I'm good," he insisted without hesitation. "This is your first poison ivy situation, and I, sadly, am a pro. I'll hang out here. Unless… you want me to leave, of course."

Smiling and rolling her eyes at him, she shook her head slightly. "No, you know I love your company. I just don't want you to feel like you _have_ to stay."

"Got it," he said, flopping down on the couch. "So go shower and scrub as much of that stuff on you as you can… that little tube will go fast though, so just watch out. Do the itchiest ones first, because there's probably not enough. Then I'll give you 'pink dots on the itchy spots,' as Sarah used to say."

She didn't know why, but just the way he said that made it sound like fun. Or maybe it was just because she liked being around him. Either way, she had _almost_ forgotten how uncomfortable those bumps were… almost, but not quite.

"Oh, Jane, one more thing," he called as she started up the stairs. "Poison ivy is spread by the oil that gets on your skin. It's contagious, and it's easy to spread. Since you don't want to spread it onto any more of your skin that it's already on, other than scrubbing them with the stuff in that tube," he pointed to the tube in her hands, "just try not to touch them… _at all_."

"Okay," she replied, and continued up the stairs. Weller leaned back into the couch and looked at his watch. 3:14am. Deciding that he could afford a little nap while Jane worked on scrubbing, his eyes were already closing before he told himself that he'd just rest his eyes for a few minutes.

What felt like a few seconds later, which was really more of five minutes or so, he awoke with a start, instantly alert. He only had to wait a few seconds before he heard the noise that had startled him awake once again. If he didn't know better, he'd say that it sounded like Jane… swearing at the top of her lungs. After what had happened in her first safe house, he preferred to err on the side of caution, and within seconds he was upstairs, sprinting into her bedroom, where he stopped short, realizing exactly where he was and what he was doing. Everything there looked fine. No open windows, no signs of trouble…

And then he heard it again. Jane yelling obscenities – words that he hadn't even know for sure that she had _known_ – if not at the top of her lungs, then pretty close. He walked to the door of the bathroom and knocked on the door. Opening the door a crack, he was greeted by a wall of steam. He stood back, not wanting to invade her privacy. "Jane!" he called. "You okay in there?"

"What? Oh… yeah. I just… Weller, the water… it _hurts_ like… like every bad word I can think of when it hits those stupid bumps! It _burns._ It's good, like when you scratch an itch, but at the same time, it's like… it's like someone set them on _fire…"_ A few more obscenities escaped her as he stood there, shaking his head. He tried very hard not to be amused, but he simply couldn't help it.

"I guess I forgot to mention that, Jane, sorry… I just wanted to be sure you were okay up here. I'll see you downstairs," he called, and walked slowly back down to the living room. That little jolt had woken him up, but now he was feeling his lack of sleep once again. Wondering if Jane had any coffee, he walked into the kitchen.

There were a few mostly empty takeout containers in the fridge, a lone ice cube tray in the freezer, but not much else. He did manage to locate a coffee maker in the corner of the counter that looked like it had never been used – probably because there were no coffee or filters to be seen anywhere in the kitchen. He shook his head. Had he really never noticed this before? He needed to be a little more aware of what was going on with Jane, he thought to himself.

He settled for a glass of water, which was really the only thing in the kitchen besides leftover crumbs in takeout boxes. He had no right to judge, though, because he knew that his refrigerator would look exactly like this if he didn't have Sarah living with him to keep him stocked with food. He sometimes missed the quiet and the privacy that he'd had before she and Sawyer had moved in, but all in all, it was great having them around.

Going back to the couch, he put his glass on water on the end table and resumed the nap he'd been starting to take when Jane had started yelling obscenities in the shower. Shortly thereafter he was once again startled awake, but this time much more pleasantly. Instead of Jane yelling curse words from upstairs, he heard her ask him in amusement from only a few feet away, "Would you like a blanket?" Sitting up and chuckling, he shook his head.

"Just waiting for you to be ready for the pink spots," he told her, turning around to look in her direction. She was wearing a different tank top and what he could only describe as some very small shorts.

"I'm ready," she said, grimacing. Her face said that she was anything but ready. If he had to make a comparison, she looked like she was about as ready as she would be to face a firing squad. Seeing him notice her change of clothing, she added, "There's a bunch of spots on my legs, so… I figured after the pink spots dry, I can put on some pajama pants." _And besides, it's not like you haven't already seen it all,_ she added in her head. It wasn't the same, of course, and she wouldn't have worn her current outfit in front of the rest of the team unless she had no other choice… but it was _Weller…_ so it was just different.

He just nodded at her, smiling sympathetically, then asked, "Do the spots feel any better, despite having felt like they were being set on fire in the shower?"

"A little," she replied with a sigh. "It's still _so_ uncomfortable, though."

"I know." He hadn't had poison ivy in many years, but he remembered the feeling well. "Hang in there," he told her as she came around the couch to sit beside him. Just before she did, however, she stopped, a look of concern on her face.

"Wait, you said this is really contagious," she said worriedly. "Won't you get it if I get too close?"

"Only if you plan to rub those spots up against me," he replied. Then, standing up and looking at her without smiling, and in a completely serious tone, he added, "Please don't do that."

Breaking out into a grin, she chuckled. "Why Agent Weller," she said with a mischievous look in her eyes, "are you saying that you thought I was planning to rub up against you?"

Kurt looked at her seriously, and without batting an eye, he said, "Not _today_ you're not."

"So, you'll… take a rain check?" Jane asked, raising her eyebrows and biting her lip to keep from laughing.

"It seems wise, yes. Because as good as poison ivy looks on you, it doesn't look _nearly_ that good on me, _trust me,"_ he replied, winking at her.

Jane rolled her eyes at him, grinning and shaking her head as she held out her arms for closer inspection. Finding the bumps, while certainly not impossible, was harder than it would have been on someone else because of the intricate patterns covering her skin. "You are _not_ telling me that this looks good," she told him.

He leaned away slightly, looking down at her arms out of the corner of his eyes, pretending to think about it. "A little pus-filled for my taste today," he replied, once again with dead seriousness, "but even so, you make poison ivy look good." She chuckled, and punched him lightly in the arm until he laughed, too.

"So, where do you want me to be? Sitting? Standing?" she asked as he went back to the bag for cotton balls.

"I think it'll be better if you just stand up for now," he said. "That way we won't miss any, and the calamine lotion won't get on the couch."

"OK, so… here?" She had moved away from the furniture, into the open middle part of the room.

"Yep, perfect," he said, walking over with a bag of cotton balls, which he set down on the floor, and the bottle of calamine lotion. "So, all you have to do is show me where it itches." He was standing close, but not _too_ close. "And remember, keep your pus-filled spots to _yourself_." His face was completely serious, except for his eyes, which were laughing.

"I'll try," she said, stifling a laugh herself.

It took about 15 minutes to cover all the spots, and several curses escaped Jane's lips on some of the ones that hurt, even when he tried to dab at them gently. "Stand there for another few minutes, just to be sure the last ones dry, okay?" he said gently. She was getting grumpier by the minute, he could tell. It was, after all, practically morning, so she was not only _very_ uncomfortable, but also _very_ tired.

"So what was the third thing again?" she asked him suddenly as she stood there. He was getting pretty tired himself, and it took him a minute to figure out what she was talking about.

"Oh, right. The third thing was Benadryl," he replied, getting it from the table where he'd put it down. "It's not made specifically for poison ivy, just generally for allergies and allergic reactions, really, so it may help, or it may not. The main thing it'll do," he told her with a smile, "is to help you get some sleep. One of its side effects is drowsiness."

"Yeah, I remember you saying something about that…" she yawned. "I mean, I'm pretty tired…"

"I know you are, but when you're as uncomfortable as you are, sometimes even being tired isn't enough. Plus, it may make you a little less itchy. Then, in the morning when the rest of the world is awake, we'll get you in to see a doctor."

Her mind was working slowly, so it only occurred to her as she nodded at his sentence that he'd said "we." A little confused, she stopped and looked at him. "We?" she asked, tilting her head slightly.

"Would you rather I didn't come?" he asked. "I don't have to."

"No, I… I know that… it's just…" she was tired and confused, and… _he wanted to come with her to the doctor?_

He could see that she was having a hard time figuring out how to even get the words out, so he took pity on her. Smiling, he said, "Well, there's this thing people do when they care about each other, where they take care of them when they're sick. It's perfectly normal, even for adults, to let someone else take care of you…" He saw the thought forming in her mind before she could get it out, so he added, "And don't say _But I'm not sick._ It's the same idea,"

She smiled, blushing slightly because that _had_ been what she'd been about to say. "Okay, okay," she replied. "It's just… you don't have to do all this for me."

"Of course I don't. But I do it anyway. Gladly," he told her, maintaining his distance from her but seeming to pull her in with his eyes.

"Thanks," she said simply.

"And now, here's your Benadryl, and water is coming right up," he told her, walking to the kitchen to fill a glass for her while she freed the tiny pink capsules from their foil enclosures. He handed her the glass and she finished the pills and the water, at which time he took the glass back from her and set it on the table against the wall. "Bedtime," he told her.

"You're bossy, today," she told him evenly, though both of them knew that she didn't mean it seriously.

"And you're grumpy, and you need to go back to bed," he replied in the same serious tone. "Besides, that Benadryl's gonna knock you out, and if you don't go to bed, you're going to wish you had."

"So, so bossy," she repeated, climbing the stairs as he followed her. "Am I allowed to go to the bathroom first?"

"Yep, but hurry up," he told her, the hint of a smile peeking through. She narrowed her eyes at him, again, without smiling, but knowing that they both knew that there was no malice behind it, as she closed the bathroom door behind her. Weller walked to the window and moved one of the blinds slightly so that he could look out, checking the view of the street. Everything was quiet.

Jane came back out of the bathroom then, and he let go of the blind and walked back around to where she was climbing into bed. "Are you going to stay and watch me sleep, too?" she asked, her tone finally showing a hit of laughter.

"Hmmm, that's an idea," he said, and for a second she wanted to slap herself for planting that idea in his head. But he smiled and shook his head. "Nope, I've gotta go out and get a few things, but I'll be back."

"You will?" she smiled at the idea as she put her head down on the pillow and pulled the blanket over her.

"Yep, probably before you wake up. Good thing I have a key," he said. "Unless you don't wait me to use it…?" He'd always felt a little weird about having a key to her place, less so after the break-in at her first safe house, but still… it just wasn't a normal arrangement between two adults who weren't in a relationship. But since part of his job was keeping her safe, it just made sense.

"Don't be silly, Weller, it's fine." Her eyes were getting heavy, he could tell. "See you later."

"Sleep tight, Jane. Feel better," he said as he walked quietly back downstairs, heading for the front door. It was almost 5:30am, and he knew that he was going to be hurting from this night later, but he didn't care. He slipped out quietly, into the early morning.

 _A/N: This was supposed to be a one-shot... but apparently I suck at writing those, so there will be at least another chapter. Maybe two. We'll see._


	2. Day 2 (Ice Cream and Movies)

**Disclaimer: I do not own Jane or Kurt or Blindspot. Writing about them is simply the outlet for my obsession. And today, my itchiness as well.**

Two hours later, he let himself back into Jane's safe house. Everything was quiet, just as he'd left it. As silently as he could, he crept upstairs and peeked into Jane's bedroom, telling himself that what he was doing might be seen as bordering on creepy. _If I was only her handler, yes_ , he argued with himself. _But I'm her friend, too._

She was asleep, lying in almost the same position that she had been when he'd left, curled over on her side, hugging the covers under one arm. She looked peaceful. Kurt was just glad that she'd been able to get back to sleep. Poison ivy was no fun for anyone, and even less fun when it kept you awake.

Tiptoeing back downstairs, he took out the things he'd collected from his few stops around town. From one bag, he pulled out coffee and paper filters, plus eggs and milk. The eggs and the milk went into the refrigerator, and he couldn't help but think that he should have gotten a few more things to put in there, as well. From another bag, he took out a wide assortment of different flavors of ice cream, putting them straight into the freezer. Finally, he took the last bag and set it on the floor beside the TV.

Sufficiently proud of himself, he stretched out on the couch, and was asleep in a matter of seconds. It wasn't exactly the way he'd expected to spend his night, but he had no regrets.

It only felt like a few minutes later when he opened his eyes to see sunlight streaming into the room. He heard movement upstairs, but no screaming of obscenities, so he figured that Jane was up, but not currently in the shower. He got himself up, and wandered to the kitchen. First things first, he thought, getting out the supplies for coffee. Setting it up and hitting the button, he heard the familiar hissing noise that told him that it wouldn't be too much longer, and he took out the eggs, cracking several into a bowl and stirring them with a little bit of milk.

A few minutes later, Jane slowly made her way into the living room and sat at the counter at the cutout in the wall that separated the kitchen and the living room. Looking into the kitchen just as he took the pan of scrambled eggs off the stove, she said sleepily, "Wow. You've been busy."

"Nah, I went out to get supplies, then came back here and took a nap. I just got up," he told her, as if it was no big deal. He poured two cups of coffee, pushing one across the counter to her, leaving the milk and a few of "those little creamer things," as she called them, for her if she wanted them. When she had her coffee the way she wanted it, he took a sip and smiled.

"You can come over for breakfast _any time_ ," she told him, grimacing as she shifted uncomfortably on her stool.

"How're you feeling?" he asked.

She looked as though she was considering it for a minute. "Like I'd still like to claw all my skin off," she replied, trying to force a smile onto her face.

"I'm sorry," he said sympathetically. "Have some scrambled eggs." He reached over and set a plate of eggs and a fork in front of her, hoping to avoid the whole skin clawing thing from playing out in front of him. "I think you'll enjoy these more than either of us would enjoy the skin clawing."

"Thanks. I guess you're right," she replied. As she took a bite, she looked at his as if she was trying to figure something out.

"What?" he asked curiously.

"What exactly did I do to deserve this?" she asked him.

"Who says you deserve it?" he asked, deadpanning once again. "Maybe I'm just _way_ too nice to you." She looked around for something to throw at him but, finding nothing, settled for glaring at him with eyes full of amusement.

"Yeah, _something_ like that," she told him sarcastically.

"Eat up, then we'll go see the doctor and get you some meds," he told her. She glanced at the clock on the wall, which told her that it was almost 8:00am.

Narrowing her eyes suspiciously at him, she asked, "Don't you have to go to work? _Shit!_ We're _both_ supposed to be at work today…"

But he was already shaking his head at her. "Nope, calm down. I called you out. I called _me_ out too. It's all good. You know how many sick days I have? I _never_ take days off, even when I should. We're set."

"Anything you _didn't_ think of already?" she asked him in amusement. She was seriously in awe. It was strange to feel so… cared about. Not that she hadn't thought that he cared about her before. There was definitely a bond between them. But this was just… unexpected.

"Well, I didn't plan out what you're going to wear to the doctor's office, and your pajamas may not be the best choice, so if you're done eating, then go get changed," he told her, back in authority figure mode once again.

"Oh, so you're bossy today, too," she told him, pretending to be annoyed. "I'm not sure how this is gonna work, you being so bossy…" she grinned, but she went upstairs to change without hesitating.

When she was ready, he drove to the FBI building, which confused her until he explained that there was a doctor there who would see her. "Good health care is one of the perks of the job," he explained. "I mean, we could go somewhere else too, but…"

"Then I'd have to start by explaining the tattoos," she finished for him as he nodded. "Yeah, I'm good with an FBI doctor," she agreed.

"I figured you'd say that," he replied.

By noon, they were back at Jane's safe house with several prescriptions, several more tubes of Zanfel, ("It costs _how much_?" Jane had nearly yelled in the pharmacy), and Chinese take-out. She'd tried several different kinds of Chinese food, but was still working her way through the menu of the place closest to their office, which was where they'd stopped, since they were there anyway.

"Okay, medicine first, and then… either food or scrubbing the itchy spots with in the fire water?" he asked her.

"Definitely food," she replied, looking at him as if he was crazy. She was _not_ looking forward to bringing those bumps in contact with water again. They weren't even really bumps anymore, they had morphed into what she'd call more like… blisters. She looked down at the ones on her arms. Several of them were large and angry, and even just sitting there without moving at all, they were hurting her. Several others had started leaking their pus, and she'd put band aids over them to keep from leaking while they were out. She wasn't looking forward to seeing what they now looked like, even though they didn't hurt quite as much as the ones that were still full.

"Ughhh! When will this _end?_ " she cried in exasperation.

"Do you want me to lie and say today?" he asked her with a sympathetic smile.

"No, I want you to tell me the truth and say today," she wailed. "It _hurts._ "

"I know, but sadly, if I say today, it won't be the truth," he told her. "Sorry."

"I know, I know," she grumbled, doing a good imitation of an angry three year old. He decided _not_ to tell her that that was what she looked like, however, not wanting to push his luck.

She took her medicine, though she didn't feel any different afterwards – as she made sure to tell him – and they ate their Chinese food. They had gotten two more items from the menu that Jane hadn't tried yet – Beef and Broccoli, and Combination Lo Mein. She decided that the Lo Mein was her favorite of all of the Chinese food she'd tried so far, and went on to have several helpings.

"Alright," Weller said as she played with the noodles left on her plate, "now you're just procrastinating. Go scrub all the itchy spots. Then we're gonna watch a bunch of movies and sit around and do nothing," he told her.

"Geez, I wish I didn't feel like such crap so I could enjoy all these fun activities," she mumbled, unhappy that he'd called her on her procrastination. She leaned her chin against the palm of her hand, her elbow propped up on the table, squinting angrily at the general direction of her plate.

Suddenly, it was as if he was hovering just over her shoulder, and she turned her head quickly to find that, in fact, he was. "If you didn't feel like such crap, we'd be at work, probably doing something very dangerous," he reminded her, his voice suddenly much softer to make up for how much closer he was to her. He stood back up quickly, however, before she could catch him, not wanting to be inadvertently hit with poison ivy bumps.

"And that would be a _lot_ more fun that having poison ivy!" she grumbled as she took her plate to the sink.

"And yet, you get to spend the day in my company, you lucky girl!" he called as she went up the stairs towards the shower.

"I'll feel a lot luckier when I don't have poison ivy… no offense, Weller!" she called back.

He chuckled as she went, feeling slightly guilty for being so amused by her. It wasn't her pain that he found funny, it was just _her_. Her "Jane-ness" was amplified a little bit by her discomfort, and it was very endearing – though he knew that it wasn't fun for _her_.

While she was in the shower, he set up the next part of his plan. He'd brought over a selection of movies from his living room, where he had a pretty extensive collection – especially now that Sawyer and Sarah had added theirs to the mix. He'd brought several popular movie series – Star Wars, Lord of the Rings, and Harry Potter (that one nabbed from Sawyer's collection) and planned to have Jane watch the first one of each, and then see which one, if any, she wanted to see more of.

He heard the water upstairs, but only heard her shriek once, and not in such colorful language as the first time, so he figured that that was progress. There was also a thudding noise that could definitely have been her stomping her feet, however, so he imagined that the water was still hurting her. When she came back downstairs, she looked clean but slightly traumatized, and she was limping slightly.

"Are you okay?" he asked her, indicating her limp.

"I have those stupid blisters all over that leg, a couple on top of my knee _and a few_ behind it, and they _all_ hurt," she said, wincing as she walked. "They're full of that nasty pus stuff and it's just…" Instead of finishing her sentence, she just shrieked unintelligibly in aggravation.

He walked slowly but purposefully over to where she stood with a pained expression on her face, stopping only a few inches in front of her. "Hey," he said, staring right into her eyes but holding still exactly where he was. It was strange, forcing himself to keep his hands to himself. Yes, he'd taken her hands the day before, but really, he knew that he should avoid doing even that, just to be safe. Poison ivy was _not_ an experience he wanted to repeat anytime soon, and it was contagious until the blisters dried up… which hers definitely had _not_.

Still, even knowing this, it was difficult not to do something small, like take her hand or touch her arm, as he was accustomed to doing when she was upset. "I know, it sucks. But it's not forever. It only feels like it." He stood and looked into her eyes for about ten seconds after he finished speaking, just standing there, inches from her face, looking into her eyes and smiling.

 _He_ _ **has**_ _to know what he's doing to me when he does this,_ she thought, but said nothing. It wasn't as though she wanted to discourage him, after all… She had to remind herself to breathe, and to say something in response.

"I know," she whispered, unable to think of anything else.

And just like that, he stepped away and went to the kitchen, returning with two glasses of water. "Go lay down on the couch and put your feet up," he told her. "Our next activity is a movie, anyway." She wasn't sure she would ever quite get used to this dance of theirs, back and forth over the line. Where _was_ the line, anyway?

"Okay," she agreed, hobbling over to the couch and positioning herself very carefully, trying to avoid the spots that would hurt her, which was, of course, impossible. She muttered several curses before settling herself somewhat comfortably. He set down their water glasses on the end table, and then walked back to the bag on the floor by the TV.

Standing back up, he explained the idea. "So there's some series of movies that are really popular, and most people have seen them, or at least know of them. So I chose a few different series, and I figured we could watch the first one of each, and then you could see if you wanted to see more or any of them. Or all of them." Her eyes widened slightly, and he added, "Not necessarily all today." It was, after all, already almost 1:00pm.

She nodded, already feeling slightly drowsy again.

"So I figured we'd just watch them in the order they came out. This oldest one is called Star Wars. The first one came out in…" he consulted the date on the box. "1977."

"Wow," she said, "so it's…"

"39, yup," he finished her sentence, not quite sure with where she was going with her sentence, but trying to steer them toward the safer route. Even now that they knew that she was Taylor Shaw, talking about the past was like walking over trip wires. It was hard to be sure that one of them wouldn't snag on her.

"I was going to say, "Older than me," she replied slowly.

"It is," he said. "Older than both of us." They just looked at each other for a few seconds, then Kurt turned abruptly to put the movie into the DVD player. As he walked towards her with the remote control, she realized that she had draped herself over the whole couch, and she started to slowly push herself to sit up.

"Don't move," he told her quickly, "You're fine where you are."

She looked at him in confusion. "But what about you?" she asked.

He glanced around for a second before heading across the room towards a chair. She was about to argue that the chair was much too far away for him to be able to see the TV from there, but he surprised her by picking up the cushion off of the chair and walking back towards her. Since he seemed to have a plan, she just watched as he set the cushion down beside the end of the couch where her head was, then sat down on it, turning to look at her. She turned her head as well, and found that he was closer than she'd thought.

"That's as close as I'm getting to you and you itchy bumps," he told her. Just like the previous time, his face was dead serious, except for his eyes.

"For today," she said in the same amused tone as she had earlier.

He glanced down at the visible bumps on her arms, then back up at her. "And possibly tomorrow as well." Still, dead serious.

"I guess that's for the best," she sighed, her smile escaping its confinement. He was really amusing when he wanted to be, which seemed to be most of the time when they weren't working.

Pointing the remote at the screen, he navigated the menu and soon had the movie started. Jane asked a lot of questions as the move wore on, but that was fine with him. He wasn't one of those "Don't you dare talk during Star Wars" fans. On the contrary, having seen the movies innumerable times over the years, including quite a few times with a very chatty Sawyer who often asked even more questions than Jane, he liked the fact that she seemed to enjoy it as well.

Two hours later, the credits were rolling and Jane groaned as she struggled to stand up without hitting any of the spots that she'd been trying not to touch. "Ow… ow… ow… ow… F-" she gritted her teeth together and closed her eyes as hard as she could, trying to suppress a sudden pain that came from a particularly sore blister coming into contact with something… she wasn't even sure what it had bumped against, only that for a few seconds, the agony was overwhelming. The next thing she felt was…. sticky.

"Oh, gross," she cried, jumping up and looking for the source of the sticky feeling. Sure enough, the blister on her leg that had just bumped against something – maybe the couch? – had just popped, leaving behind it a sticky patch on the middle of the back of one leg of her cloth pants. "I need to go change. And while I'm up, I need to pee."

Weller just chuckled at her as she made her way toward the stairs, hobbling along. He stood up and stretched too. His seat on the floor wasn't _quite_ as comfortable as the couch, but he was fine with the arrangement. Besides he knew that Jane was _far_ more uncomfortable than he was.

While he waited for her, he switched out the movies, then set out bowls and the many different smallish containers of ice cream that he'd bought that morning.

"Well, the good news," she said as she walked back into the room, "is that blister that popped was one of the ones behind my knee that was _really_ hurting. So now that the pressure there is gone, my knee hurts just a little less."

"That's good news indeed," he agreed, watching her reaction as she noticed what he was doing. He couldn't help but smile when he saw her eyes light up.

"So, what's all this?" she asked, walking towards the counter where she'd eaten breakfast that morning. She sat down on a stool, slowly and carefully, once again.

"Ice cream," he told her, trying to keep a straight face when she narrowed her eyes at him.

"I can see _that_ ," said in exasperation. "But that's… a _lot_ of ice cream. Why so much?"

"What kind is your favorite?" he asked her, seeming to change the subject.

 _That's unlike him_ , she thought. He knew better than to ask about her favorite, well, _anything._ She always just ended up frustrated and sad, because she didn't _know_ her favorites. He hadn't made that mistake since the very first time he'd dropped her off at her safe house and said that she could pick whatever she liked to eat and they'd get it for her. Her frown immediately made her face cloud over and for a second, he regretted not having just told her what he was up to.

"That's why," he said quickly, waiting to see her smile to reappear. "Because you can't find your favorite if you don't try a whole lot of them."

The little bit of annoyance that she'd felt when she'd thought that his question had been insensitive was replaced by a feeling of gratitude that was even stronger. _How was he always so thoughtful?_ For a second she was speechless, and she sat there, smiling at him, still slightly in awe. "Thanks," she finally managed.

He was grinning now, clearly proud of himself. "You ready?" he asked. "We have a _lot_ of work to do here."

"I think I can handle it," she said. "This is one of the better challenges I think I've been issued lately."

And so he scooped out tiny amounts of the various flavors that he'd brought. The classic chocolate, vanilla and strawberry, of course, just for comparison, though Jane had had both chocolate and vanilla already, and then on to coffee, rocky road, pistachio, double chocolate, caramel fudge, and finally, an orange sherbet with chocolate chunks in it called Swiss Chocolate.

In the end, there was still a surprisingly large quantity of ice cream left, though they had done their best, going back for seconds of several kinds. "Please, no more ice cream…" Jane moaned. "I think I'm going to explode." Weller put in the freezer for another time, chuckling.

"This is only the beginning, you know that, right? There are hundreds of flavors of ice cream out there… maybe even thousands!"

Across the counter from him, Jane just groaned. "Never again! I'm done with ice cream _forever_!"

"Somehow I doubt that, but we'll see… So, out of the ones we had, which one was your favorite?" he asked her.

She smiled this time, glad that she could now answer this question. "I would have to say that last one. Swiss Chocolate? But of course they were _all_ good… Except now, now they are all bad and I _never_ want to see ice cream again." She staggered back over to the couch. "Was _that_ part of your plan as well?" she asked him suspiciously as she laid back down, again trying not to bump any of the many sore spots on her body.

"Not at all," he replied, coming back to retrieve the remote and sit beside her on his cushion on the floor. "But was it fun?"

"Yes," she admitted. "Up until now."

" _That_ was the plan," he replied with a smile. "Ready for the next movie?" It was about 3:30 pm, so he figured they could fit in another long one before Jane would be hungry again.

"Sure," she said. "What's this one?"

"This one – actually both of the other series I have with me – are based on books. I know you haven't read them, but they make good movies, too. Though I have to warn you that the ending of this one _isn't_ very satisfying. This one requires you to be willing to watch the next one, the other two, really, in order to get closure. When I watched it with Sarah, before I managed to get her to read the books," he remembered back to that day as he talked, "I distinctly recall that she was mad at me at the end of this movie. I believe that she hit me over the head with a blunt object of some kind…" He looked around to be sure that there were no blunt objects within Jane's reach, then back at her, a little boy grin on his face. "They're good, though, I swear."

Jane just looked at him, completely confused. "Okay…" she said slowly. "Well, fine, whatever."

"That's the spirit!" he said. "This series is called Lord of the Rings. It's a series of three _long_ books about hobbits and wizards and… well, you'll see." He pushed play on the movie and turned his attention to the screen.

"What's a hobbit?" she whispered loudly towards his ear.

"Just watch. You'll see one in a second," he replied, and they both turned to look at the screen. Once again, Weller answered questions throughout the movie, even more so this time, since movies made from books so often have to leave out details that can be helpful for understanding the plot and the characters. He was fairly sure that she'd enjoyed it, but her face at the end was perplexed.

"You're right," she told him, "that was _not_ a very good ending. _So they'll just keep walking now and maybe they'll get there and maybe they won't?_ And we won't know unless we watch the next movie!"

"Two more, actually," he corrected her.

"Even worse!" she almost yelled.

"So… does that mean you liked it?" he asked, pretty sure of her answer but wanting to hear it from her.

"Besides the ending, _yes_. Sarah was right to be mad. That ending was terrible," Jane grumbled. Weller just chuckled at her.

"Time to stretch again?" he asked her.

"Yes," she nodded, standing up stiffly, and then looking at the clock in amazement. "Is it really 6:30?" She looked down at him in surprise as he stood up to stretch, too.

"That it is," he acknowledged. "How are you feeling?"

She scoffed slightly. "About the same, it hurts a little more, actually…" she sighed unhappily. "This is one of those 'it gets worse before it gets better,' things, isn't it?"

Smiling sympathetically, he replied, "Yeah, I'm afraid it is." She made a face that was half annoyed and rolled her eyes. "Oh well," she sighed wistfully, adding, "It just feels like it's _never_ going to end."

He knew it could get him into trouble because he didn't want to appear to be smiling at her pain, but he really couldn't help smiling at her – so he tried to keep his smile at least sympathetic. It was strange, having to hold himself farther back from her and not having any physical contact with her at all. Not that he wouldn't done anything more than hold her hand or something innocent like that, of course. But it wouldn't do any good for _both_ of them to have poison ivy, as much as misery loved company.

"It will," he promised. "Just not quite soon enough." Changing the subject, he asked, "Do you want to watch another movie? We can get the leftover Chinese out if you're hungry…"

"I don't think I'll ever be hungry again," she said emphatically. "Or, at least not for a few more hours."

"Ok, but you still need to take your meds. Then another dose at bedtime," he instructed her.

He walked over to her, stopping a more normal distance away this time. After he dropped the pill into her hand, she stood and stared at him, twisting her face slightly in thought, then said, "I really think you like bossing me around." She put it in her mouth and took the glass of water from him, drinking it all.

"What can I say? It's fun," he replied with a grin. "So, then, movie number three?" Jane wasn't wrong, he was having fun. But not just because he could boss her around a little. Hell, he was sort of her boss at work, he could boss her around anytime – though things probably wouldn't go too well if he tried. But he hadn't had such a fun, lazy day in ages, and it wouldn't have been as much fun if he'd spent it with anyone else.

"Sure. Two minutes, I'll be right back," she said, disappearing into the bathroom once again. He walked to the window and peered outside. It was a pretty day out there, out in the world where the other people moved about, and normally he might have suggested going out to do something. However, any sort of activity that involved leaving the house would have been far less than attractive to someone covered in pus filled blisters. Outside could wait for another day.

When she came back out, he ducked inside the bathroom. Not two minutes later he was back in the living room and found Jane on the couch, sound asleep. Chuckling, he went into the kitchen and cleaned up a little, loading the few dishes that he hadn't already into the dishwasher, and turning it on.

The slight hum from the dishwasher caused Jane to stir on the couch, and as Weller walked over and stopped in the middle of the room, looking down at her where she lay in sleepy confusion, she just gazed up at him, as though she couldn't quite figure out what he was doing there.

"No more movies, today, I think. Looks like it's time for an early bedtime for once. What do you think?" He made sure not to make it an order, even a playful one, but a suggestion.

"Still bossy," she replied quietly, but smiling broadly at him. "But I admit it, I think I like it."

He shook his head, smiling back at her. "Obviously you're way more tired than we thought. You may be delirious, you know." _Why is it so much fun to tease her?_

"It's the pus talking," she grinned, standing up slowly and wincing in pain. "I'll deny all knowledge of this conversation tomorrow."

"As I would expect," he agreed, nodding his head. He got her other pill and refilled her water yet again, and then nodded towards the stairs. "Go on," he directed her.

"I'm going, I'm going," she said, but didn't move. She stood where she was until he caught up with her, and just stood and looked at him as if to say, _So, what are you gonna do about it?_

Smiling at her yet again and shaking his head, chuckling to himself, he tried for a serious voice as he said, "Get moving," but failed miserably in his attempt. She laughed too, then started walking.

"You know, I am actually able to walk upstairs by myself," she told him as he followed her up the stairs.

"That's not what you've shown me so far," he replied.

"Shut up," she told him with a smile, not turning around.

She glanced into the bathroom, and he nodded, the question no longer needing to be asked out loud. After she closed the door behind her, he put the tiny white pills and her glass of water on the table by her bed and again walked to the window. It had been a very, very long day, and he was surprised that he hadn't fallen asleep somewhere along the way.

The door opened behind him, and he turned to see her walking towards the bed.

"You look tired," she told him, as he walked back across the room towards her, stopping a few feet from where she stood. A little farther than where he wanted to be, but the right distance, he told himself.

"I _am_ tired," he replied. "Someone called me at 2:30 in the morning and woke me up, then kept me busy all day." He looked anything but annoyed with her, and his tone was the same warm one with which he nearly always talked to her.

"I'm sorry," she told him sincerely, smiling because he was such a good guy that she already knew he didn't mind.

"I'm not," he said simply. "Besides, I had a nap. And we had a great day, or I did, but then I'm not the one covered in pus." He was trying _not_ to smile at her, but it wasn't working.

She chuckled at that, despite the disgusting truth. "Yeah, I know, it's pretty gross. But I had fun too, pus notwithstanding." She looked at him for a few seconds before adding, "Thank you, Weller."

"I told you, call me any time. That includes _all_ the times," he said lightly. "2:30 am isn't _first_ on my list, but for you? Of course." She was still smiling at him. _That smile._ For a second he was almost lost in it.

She sat down and took her pills, knowing that if she didn't, _someone_ would remind her pretty quickly. Leaning back against her pillow, the familiar chorus of, "Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, F—" escaped her before she was finally comfortable.

"You'd better get some sleep though, because tomorrow's gonna be pretty interesting, too," he told her.

"You're coming back tomorrow?" she asked, grinning, as she pulled the blanket over her.

"Unless someone blows up something important, that's my plan," he told her. "You, on the other hand, will definitely not be going to work. As beautiful as _you_ are," he watched as she turned dark pink and tried to hide her head under the blanket at his words, "your blisters are still contagious."

"You'd better go before you say something you'll regret," she admonished him playfully, yawning.

He appeared to think about it for a minute, and then said, "Well, I've said my share of things I regretted in my life, I suppose, but _that_ ," he crouched down in front of her, where she'd already pulled the blankets back off of her head to hear what he had to say, "is _not_ one of them."

"Good night, Weller. Thank you for everything. Now go home and get some sleep. You deserve it."

"Good night, Jane. I'll see you in the morning. Feel better." The look between them lasted only a split second that time, before he'd stood back up and was out the door, down the stairs, and out her front door.

 _If I have to have poison ivy,_ Jane thought, _this is the way to do it._

And then, as she fell asleep, she couldn't help but think, _Please don't let anything important blow up tomorrow._


	3. Day 3 (Monopoly and Would You Rather)

**Disclaimer: I do not own Jane or Kurt or Blindspot. Writing about them is simply the outlet for my obsession. And today, my itchiness as well.**

 _A/N: I know, this story has become all heart eyes and banter between them. I'm not sorry, either… I blame the pus… This poison ivy thing_ _ **sucks**_ _, so I'm trying my hardest to keep my mind on happier things – like Jane and Kurt and them being cute. I'd say I'm sorry for the cuteness overdose, but I'm totally not. Choosing between focusing on Jeller cuteness or pus? It's not much of a competition._

When Weller woke up at 6:00 am, thinking that this was a much more civilized time than 2:30 am to be waking up, he already had a text from Jane. She'd sent it twenty minutes before.

 _ **It's leaking.**_

 _What's leaking?_ he typed back.

 _ **The pus. Those stupid blisters that didn't break? They're leaking pus. It's so gross.**_

 _Never mind, I'm not coming over._

 _ **I don't blame you. If I could leave myself and go somewhere else, I would.**_

 _Don't be silly, Jane. I'll see you in forty-five minutes._

 _ **You might want a hazmat suit. To protect you from the pus.**_

He left that one without a reply, deciding that whatever he said, she'd reply saying basically this same thing. _So_ _this is the next stage of poison ivy…_ he thought. _Or at least, Jane's reaction to poison ivy._ He'd seen other people's reactions to it, and none had been like this. _Very much like Jane_ , he thought, _very original._

After a quick shower, he hunted around his apartment for what he needed for today's entertainment – a bunch of games to bring with him to her place. He picked up Monopoly, Connect 4, and a few others, as well as a few really big puzzles – several thousand pieces or more – that Sarah had bought him, not understanding that he would _never_ have time to put something like that together…

 _Well, you do now,_ he thought.

He put the games into a bag and headed out, making two stops on the way, before pulling up at Jane's safe house exactly forty-five minutes after he'd told her he'd see her in 45 minutes. Taking the bags out of the car, he headed to the door. As he walked across the sidewalk, he nodded at Jane's detail, then knocked on the door as usual. Instead of Jane opening the door, however, he heard a muffled voice call, "Come in!"

Thinking that was a little strange, he took out his key and let himself in. Upon entering, he found Jane looking mildly hysterical, surrounded by several plastic bags filled with wadded up tissues, a half empty box beside her on the couch. He stood and looked at her, closing the door behind him, as she looked up at him, immediately wailing, "They won't stop _leaking!_ It's the most disgusting thing ever!"

Coming from the woman who he had seen beat up guys about twice her size on numerous occasions, this seemed to be a bad sign. Jane appeared to be losing her sense of perspective after several days of house arrest. In the battle with the pus, Jane was currently losing.

He had to admit, it _was_ kinda disgusting, though by far not the worst thing he'd ever seen. Not surprisingly, he had the distinct feeling that he minded seeing the open sores that she was staring at on her arms, dabbing every few minutes with a tissue, far less than he would have on someone else. In a way, her tattoos were working to her advantage in this case. Her blisters weren't attractive, to be sure, but the whole thing looked a little more… artistic? Not the right word for it, but something like that.

Walking slowly across the room with his bags in hand, he let them down on the counter by the kitchen and walked over to her to get a better look at what today would hold. He could see why she was frustrated, and he looked down at her sympathetically.

"Have you eaten?" he asked her.

"No," she replied more sharply than she'd intended. "Or showered, or scrubbed or taken medicine or done anything except sat here and dabbed at these stupid spots!" she concluded angrily.

He just smiled at her patiently, knowing that he was not the one she was angry with. "How about this?" he asked, "Why don't I make some breakfast while you go and shower and scrub the pus right out of those bumps," he paused, watching Jane shiver as she imagined how painful that was going to be, "and then afterwards we'll put band aids on the ones that are constantly leaking so you don't have to see them for a while. We'll check them in a few hours. Okay?"

She just sighed heavily and nodded, knowing that he was right to be so calm and rational, and that she was acting a little bit like a lunatic. It was just hard to be calm and rational when you were the one whose skin felt like it was melting from the inside out. "Okay," she replied in defeat. She was _not_ looking forward to that shower, especially now that she knew all too well how it was going to feel.

"First things first," he announced, "come over here and take your medicine." He was now in the kitchen, watching her through the cut out in the wall as she walked toward him, eyes narrowed. She was _not_ in a good mood so far this morning. Finally coming to a stop in front of him, she held out her hand and he deposited a tiny, white pill into her palm.

 _Exactly where his thumb sat the other night_ , she couldn't help but think with a sigh. He put a glass of water in the other hand, and she quickly set the pill at the back of her tongue and drank the water, draining the glass and handing it back to him without a word. In her eyes, he saw the misery she was feeling, though she said nothing. It wasn't like her to be so quiet. That was what told him how badly she was really feeling.

She wanted to scream – she had, in fact, screamed several times that morning, each time having had to explain to her detail, who came bursting in from outside, that she was in fact fine, merely miserable no thanks to her poison ivy. It was their job to be sure she was okay, she knew, but it just made things worse. And now, with Kurt now standing in front of her and being so damn _nice,_ the urge to scream had left her. It felt like she'd been dealing this the horrible blisters on her skin for weeks, not days, and she was just about at her limit.

He looked into her eyes and tried to transfer some measure of determination, something that Jane didn't usually seem to lack, back to her through his smile. She smiled back at him weakly, still looking fairly miserable. It was normal, he knew, considering how completely the poison ivy was affecting her. "Go and shower, and scrub those nasty oils off your skin again, and then we'll eat," he told her gently, "Okay?" She just nodded, and turned to walk upstairs.

Since, unfortunately, there was nothing else he could do to help her at that moment, he turned his attention to making breakfast. It was pretty rare that he had the time to make breakfast at all, much less two days in a row, and he had to admit that he was enjoying the chance. Despite never having time to cook, he actually did know how, and he liked to think he was pretty good. He had learned from his mistake the previous day, so he'd picked up a little more in the groceries department. It wasn't as though going out for food would be an attractive option that day, if it could be avoided, after all. So he unpacked the goodies that he'd found on his way to her place that morning, pulling out the ingredients for pancakes, along with some bacon, and putting the rest away for later.

Jane turned on the water, waited a minute for it to warm up, and tried to convince herself to step in. Several more tubes of Zanfel waited for her on the shelf in the shower, and even though she knew that they would help her in the long run, she eyed them with contempt. Taking a shower had always been something that made her feel better, but now even something as simple as getting clean took a supreme amount of willpower, knowing the pain that it would inflict on her already tender skin. Finally, seeing that the pus was once again beginning to leak from several of her blisters, she gritted her teeth. There was no choice but to get into the shower, and get the whole ordeal over with.

Reluctantly putting her arms and legs under the water, she felt the familiar burning sensation and had to force herself not to jump right back out again. Now painfully familiar with what needed to be done, she squeezed the crème onto her hands, rubbing it into a paste and then scrubbing the itchiest spot first, only to rinse everything completely and repeat the procedure what felt like a never ending amount of times. Eventually, she had scrubbed them all. It was as though she'd been in combat against her own skin.

When she appeared downstairs again, looking wet and slightly traumatized just like she had the previous day, she went straight to the stools overlooking the kitchen. The smell of coffee, pancakes and bacon suddenly reminded her of how hungry she was, and her stomach growled loudly. Weller had been straightening up in the kitchen, and looked up at her when she sat down without a word.

Glancing up at him, she tried to force herself to smile, but it felt pointless. No, she felt as though she'd been condemned to a life with these horrible blisters all over her. She thought back to the days when the tattoos that covered her skin had seemed like such a terrible burden… what she wouldn't give for that to be the case once again.

"Did you put band aids on the ones that were still leaking?" he asked. She just nodded. As she had done somewhere in between steps in this ordeal several times over the past few days, she'd also thrown absolutely everything she'd been wearing, as well as all of the towels that she had touched even briefly, into the wash and set it on HOT. She really wanted to just set it all on fire and burn away the contagion, but this seemed like the next best thing, and a little more realistic.

Walking out of the kitchen and around to where she sat, he pulled out the stool beside her, moving it over slightly farther than he would have on a normal day. He'd set his food there beside hers, and they ate in silence for a few minutes. He hated to see her so miserable, and he hoped that having something to eat would help at least a little bit.

"It's really good," she said finally, in between bites, looking up at him and once again trying to force herself to smile. "Thank you. I'm sorry I'm not very good company today."

He shook his head at her, smiling at the fact that she finally seemed to be acting more like herself. " _I'm_ sorry that that poison ivy is making you so miserable, Jane. I know you hate to do it, but did the scrubbing help?"

"Yeah, it burns when I do it and I want to tear my skin off… but it feels better afterwards," she conceded. "And I know it's better to let them air out, but I do feel a little better with the leaky ones covered, at least for a while…" She'd finished her food and continued to sip at her coffee, starting absently into the kitchen.

"So, do you want to hear about today's entertainment? Or do you need more coffee first?" he asked her.

"More coffee," she replied quietly. While she still seemed subdued, her eyes followed him carefully as he walked back into the kitchen to refill her coffee, instead of simply staring at nothing. He hoped this was a step forward.

He must have been paying attention to the ratios of milk and creamer that she'd added to her coffee the previous time, because when he handed it back to her this time, it was perfect. He saw the first real smile, albeit a small one, on her face that he'd seen since the night before after she took a drink. _How does he do that?_ she wondered.

"So you have something else planned for today, huh? Were you, like an event planner in a former life or something?" she asked. Her voice was still flat, but her eyebrows arched just a little.

 _Welcome back, Jane,_ he thought. "Maybe so," he shrugged. "So, anyway, I had a new idea… Unless, of course, you had something in mind?"

Rolling her eyes and groaning, she shook her head. "The only thing I have in mind is outliving this poison ivy," she replied, the look of resignation returning to her face. "Though I'm not sure what my odds are. Personally at this point I think my money would be on the poison ivy."

"Nah, I've seen you in action. I'd definitely bet on you," he said seriously. "Anyway, I just happened to have a ton of games at home, some of which are the ones that _everyone_ ," he made air quotes with his fingers around the word 'everyone,' "has at least tried."

Nodding glumly, she sipped her coffee again. "Except me," she said sarcastically, rolling her eyes. She was tired of being the exception to everything.

"Which is why I _brought them,_ grumpy pants," he said cheerfully. "So you can be part of the 'everyone.'"

 _I have to hand it to Weller today, because I am just not easy to deal with. I'm even annoying myself_ , she thought. It was sweet, how hard he was trying to cheer her up.

"Okay," she said, "but… I don't want to touch all the pieces from your games and possibly contaminate them… I mean I've washed my hands what feels like a hundred times, but still… I can't see that stupid oil, so I can't be sure…" She was confused when he smiled at her, but she soon saw the reason for his smile.

From one of the bags on the counter, which he pulled closer to them, he took out a box labelled _Latex Gloves_. "For you," he said, sliding them toward her, "and, because you can't have all the fun…" he took out another almost identical box, "for me. Slightly more my size," he explained. "They're the same ones some doctors use, or people who work in food service... Basically, jobs where it's really important to have clean hands and not spread germs."

She took another sip of her coffee, then set it down and pulled the box closer to her. She couldn't believe that he'd actually thought so hard about this, and yet… of course he had! Agent Kurt Weller was nothing if not thorough. Smiling now, she looked up at him. "This is so thoughtful, really…" She wasn't even sure what else to say. _It's a really weird gift, but right now… it's perfect._

Glad that he could make her smile after a rough start to the day, his smile mirrored hers. "It's the least I could do to try to keep your spirits up," he replied. They cleared away the dishes and Weller moved the rest of the bags from the counter, and he pulled out Monopoly. "This one could take hours," he said. "I used to crush Sarah at it. She just didn't have the patience… that, and she always fell for my tricks." He winked at her as he took the top off of the box and started removing the pieces.

"What kind of tricks?" she asked him curiously, taking out two gloves from her box and dutifully putting them on.

"Oh, you'll see," he replied cryptically, reaching for his gloves as well. He needed them less than Jane, of course, but it was still better safe than sorry. Besides, then she didn't have to feel as awkward. "Although I have a feeling that you won't be as easily fooled as she was. Sarah's always been a little too… naïve for her own good. I think because… she believes what she _wants_ to believe, despite evidence that's sometimes right in front of her…"

Jane could see that he was suddenly going somewhere with what he was saying, but she wasn't sure if he actually wanted to talk about it or not. Was he talking about… what had happened to _her?_ He'd told her that his dad had been the only person ever accused of her murder. Maybe Sarah had chosen to ignore the inconsistencies that Kurt had mentioned to her… except that obviously she _hadn't_ been murdered. She was right here. _Something_ had happened to her… and maybe… She shivered slightly.

Now she was just making things up, she was sure, taking this is a direction that Kurt was _surely_ not going. Besides, she didn't want to say anything bad about Sarah, his sister, when she didn't even really _know_ her. She'd seemed perfectly nice, despite the disaster that their dinner had turned into. _You really need to get_ _ **out**_ _of your head and just play. Or at least, use your words with him_ , she told herself.

"You don't think I'd be like that, too?" she asked him thoughtfully. "It's not necessarily a _bad_ thing to believe the best about people, you know. Sometimes the good might be harder to see, after all…" She knew that people didn't necessarily see good when they looked at _her_ , just based on her appearance. And the FBI had been awfully suspicious of her back when she'd first been delivered to them, obviously. No, there was something attractive about the way he'd described Sarah, even if it was a little too far to the "nice" extreme.

He looked up at her thoughtfully. "You? No, you're not the same as Sarah. I mean, you have some of the same qualities. You're kind, you're thoughtful, and yes, you do see the good in people where others sometimes miss it…" He looked into her eyes for a minute, biting his tongue from saying _precisely_ what he was thinking – that somehow she saw _him_ – not even any one quality, just _him_ in general – better than anyone else seemed to. "But you're not naïve. I think that in order to be naïve, you need to have been sheltered, to a certain degree, anyway. And that's one thing that you are _not_."

She smiled, nodding slightly. It went without saying she supposed, that if you'd had your memory of your entire life and everyone in it erased, then in some ways it was hard to be naïve. Of course, it also meant that the many lessons she had learned throughout her "previous" life were gone as well… but she supposed that since meeting Weller and the rest of the team, she'd seem enough that she wouldn't be foolish enough to think that good things happened to good people, or that there was fairness in life, or anything silly like that. If anything, she was probably pretty cynical for someone with almost no life experiences.

But it was hard to think about serious things like that when Weller was sitting beside her, ready to teach her how to play Monopoly. And that, she supposed, was the reason he was there. Not specifically to help her catch up on board games and movies that were familiar to the rest of the world, though those things did help her to feel more normal, little by little. And he wasn't there specifically to keep her from being cynical, or anything deep like that. No, what it came down to was that he knew she needed someone to keep her company. She hated to admit it, but sitting there alone with her poison ivy, she would have been climbing the walls – and not in a cool, Spiderman way, either.

Their conversation that had started with Sarah being easily fooled at Monopoly had turned a little heavy, and Jane appeared to be a little bit stuck inside her head for a few minutes. "You okay?" he asked, and it was only then that she realized that he'd noticed how quiet she had been. Without even thinking, his hand touched hers gently, just a simple gesture of comfort and not so unusual between them.

For a second she panicked, not because she disliked the gesture, but because she had gotten so accustomed to them keeping their hands to themselves out of necessity over the past few days. But she quickly relaxed, glancing at their hands before looking back up at him suspiciously, realizing the thought process that had likely taken place hours before. "For the games, huh?" she asked, raising her eyebrows.

His hand didn't move, just remained where he'd laid it gently over hers. "Hey, I don't wanna bring poison ivy back to my place to spread to Sarah and Sawyer. And I can admit that I'd _really_ rather not get it myself… I mean, I don't have cool tattoos to cover it up, after all…"

He was rambling a little, she decided, and when he finally stopped she just looked at him, nodding slowly. "Right," she said, then glanced back down at their hands and smiled. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze before removing his, so that they could start the game.

Their game lasted most of the morning, as Weller had predicted, and Jane did better than he had expected she would as a first time player. Somehow, however, she landed in jail repeatedly, blaming him for stacking the deck against her. Of course, he denied it, though she insisted that he looked guilty.

The game had been complicated enough that she'd _almost_ forgotten about the blisters covering her, some of which were dripping, and some of _those_ more slowly than others. She'd covered the ones on her legs with large band aids so that she could sit down without worrying about leaving anything behind, but the situation on her arms… well, she tried not to think about it other than continuously dabbing tissues at them, changing her glove if she had to use her right hand to dab her left arm, and trying not to think about how disgusting those blisters looked. She was actually glad for her tattoos, for perhaps the first time ever, because they camouflaged her poison ivy just a little bit.

The game was put away and the gloves they'd worn for the game were switched out for clean ones – because that was the point, after all. After asking whether Jane had ever tried BLTs – and not surprisingly, she hadn't – Weller set about making them for lunch, having stocked the kitchen for that purpose, among other things, that morning. When the sandwiches were ready, he carried the two plates to the couch, where Jane was sitting gingerly, as if she was afraid to get comfortable.

"You okay?" he asked. "You look… uncomfortable."

She turned and looked at him as he put the plates down on the coffee table as if she was concentrating very hard on what words she was choosing. "I look uncomfortable because I _am_ uncomfortable. This is… disgusting. There's really no other word for it. It's not getting better, I swear it's getting worse." She turned her arm over so that he could see it better. "See that spot, and the one next to it? Those are _new._ They weren't there yesterday. _This is never going away."_ She was gritting her teeth by the end, and looking like she was trying very hard to keep her composure.

"Yes, they will," he told her soothingly. "I promise. Not nearly as quickly as you or I would like, obviously. But they will." The look she gave him then was piercing, and she knew that she shouldn't be taking this out on him. He was the one being _nice_ to her, after all. "Have some lunch," he said, appearing unaffected by her attempted death stare. "Then we'll do something else."

Sighing, she gave in and tried the sandwich, finding that she did like it very much. She also found that the simple act of eating took her mind off of what she really, really didn't want to think about, even if it was only for a few minutes. She had to remind herself that this was one of those days where that was really the best that she could hope for.

After lunch, dishes cleared, medicine swallowed and new gloves in place once again – despite how ridiculous it felt to be wearing them in the first place – Weller produced a large puzzle. The picture was beautiful – it was apparently a world map from the year 1375, and it had 4,000 pieces. The image itself was split into eight panels, the colors faded, mainly tans and greens, with various illustrations scattered across it. The picture on the box was fascinating to look at – and the puzzle itself looked like it would take a _long_ time to put together.

Jane looked up at him unsurely. "I might not even have poison ivy long enough to finish this one," she said, though really, she'd glumly accepted the fact that she would probably be homebound with the horrible rash for the rest of her life – or what _felt_ like it, anyway.

"Whether that's a statement about the puzzle or your positive attitude about healing, I'm going to see it as progress," he said happily, pulling the plastic off of the sealed box with a grin. She rolled her eyes at him. It was hard to be in a bad mood with Weller around.

Jane came to find that doing the puzzle was much different than playing Monopoly, or any of the other things they'd done during what she was trying not to think of as her "imprisonment." They were both very much focused on finding pieces that fit together, Weller explaining the strategy of finding the outside pieces first and sorting the pieces by color. They were quiet for long stretches of time while doing the puzzle, but it wasn't an uncomfortable silence.

At one point, Jane looked up at him thoughtfully, and said, "Did you always want to work for the FBI?"

The question took him by surprise, and he looked at her for a few long seconds, trying to think of how to frame the answer… since it had to do with their past. "Ever since I found out what the FBI was, yes," he replied. "So… since I was ten."

She nodded and looked back down at the puzzle pieces in front of her. _Oops_. Trying to lessen the tension that she'd just inadvertently created, she asked, "And if you couldn't work for the FBI, if you had to choose, would you rather…" she looked at the ceiling thoughtfully for a few seconds. "…Be a pilot, or someone who jumps out planes?"

He smiled at the randomness of the question, sensing the effort that it represented, and replied, "If I had to choose? I think I'd rather fly the plane… though I'd need some training first, of course. What about you?" He realized only after he'd asked for her opinion that she may or may not have enough past experience to answer that question… but it wasn't as though there was a _wrong_ answer, and he hadn't asked her for a _favorite_ , so he hoped he hadn't just put his foot in his mouth.

"Well," she began carefully, considering what she knew about airplanes and heights and driving (the closest thing to which she could equate flying a plane), "I think I'd rather fly it as well. Something about hurtling towards the ground that fast… my life feels like that enough of the time, like I have no control over it. Though, you know, I agree, it would be nice to have some training first."

Weller nodded, smiling. This was interesting, he decided. An extra distraction on top of the puzzle, which they were still working on. He just had to remind himself to keep the questions based on something for which she had a frame of reference. "Would you rather… climb a mountain, or sit on a beach?"

Tilting her head thoughtfully, she considered it for a few minutes. "I think… there are a lot of things involved in climbing a mountain that I don't know about, never having tried," she began, "but sitting on a beach doesn't sound much like me. I think after five minutes I'd want to get up and move. So I think I would rather at least _try_ to climb the mountain. I might find out that I'd hate it, who knows? But if I had to pick… What about you?"

"Mmmmm… beach," he said. "And I'd probably fall asleep and end up sunburnt… and that _has_ happened many times, actually." He smiled back at her. "You like this game?"

"Yeah. It makes you think," she replied. "So, my turn?" When he nodded, she squinted as she tried to think of the next question. "Would you rather… train lions or train dolphins?"

That one made him laugh. "Well, as much as I don't mind danger… I'm gonna say dolphins. No sense _looking_ for trouble."

"Agreed," she echoed almost immediately. "At least dolphins can't eat you!"

"So, would you rather… have a job you loved that paid crap, or a job you hated that payed a million dollars?" he asked, already know what she was going to say.

"I'm surprised you don't know," she said in surprise, looking at him closely.

"Oh, I think I know the answer, but the point is that people can surprise you," he assured her.

"Okay, well I'd rather have the crappy paying job that I loved," she said, as he'd known that she would. "You?"

"I feel like I should say the opposite just so we don't have all the same answers," he grinned. "But no, same."

She looked at him thoughtfully, then asked, "Would you rather… be here with all this poison ivy, or be at work?"

"I'd rather be at work _with you_ ," he said, emphasizing the last two words.

She shook her head at him. "Even _I_ know that that's not one of the choices in this game, and I've never played before," she told him. "You can't change the options."

"Okay, fine," he said. "If I had known precisely what I was getting myself into when I decided to come and hang out with a blister covered Jane Doe with poison ivy for up to…" he pretended to do intense calculations, "another 55 days or so…" She groaned at the number as he kept talking. "… I would rather…" he looked at her, drawing out his answer to see her impatient reaction. "… be here with you. Blisters and all."

She smiled happily, but before he could think of another question, she was already asking a second one in a row. He almost protested, and was ready to remind her that she hadn't gone in order, when he heard what she'd said. "Would you rather… forget your life, and everyone in it, or remember and live with a terrible past?"

He was frozen in place for a second, then asked hoarsely, "What kind of terrible past?"

"It doesn't matter," she replied, looking at him steadily, "because you wouldn't remember."

"So… the devil you know, or the devil you don't?" he asked.

"Something like that, I guess. If you could choose…" she prodded him.

"I think… I'd rather forget," he said, already wondering if that was the wrong answer. Never mind that she'd asked his opinion. It was a sensitive topic and he knew it. He was surprised that she'd wanted to go there in the first place.

She nodded at him and smiled, but the smile didn't reach her eyes. _Of course he would_ , she thought _. Look what he spent twenty-five years running from. And yet… is it better to constantly wonder?_ Each of them knew what it felt like to live through one side, but it was hard to imagine being the other one.

"I think I'd rather forget, too," she said suddenly. He was surprised, all things considered, that she'd said that. Honestly, she was a little surprised about it herself. But from what she'd remembered so far, while not representative of the whole picture, she really didn't want to know any more. She didn't want to remember.

He looked up at her in surprise. _She'd rather forget? Even knowing exactly how hard that was?_ He must have looked more surprised than he realized, because she smiled at him, seeing his confusion. "It's hard," she said, "trying to outrun something that haunts you."

She looked away, suddenly afraid to look at him too closely. She didn't want him to see in her eyes the same thing she was afraid to see in his. That recognition of what it felt like to be constantly stuck on the past. She might have had her memory erased, but still, she was haunted by her past and that much, at least, she could relate to. "At least when you have a chance to start over… if you're _not_ constantly having to relive the past… maybe you get lucky the second time around, and it's good." She looked back at him then, and smiled unsurely, only to find him nodding in agreement.

"If you're lucky, yeah… maybe," he agreed, looking her straight in the eye.

The looked at each other from opposite ends of the coffee table, where they'd spread out to work on the puzzle, understanding flowing between them and words unnecessary. Finally, they each looked away.

The puzzle was nowhere near finished, and they decided to abandon it for the day, agreeing that what they needed for dinner was pizza. Weller had the order placed in under a minute, and Jane decided to be brave and pull the band aids off the blisters on her legs. She knew that they needed to air dry, but as long as they were dripping so constantly, that was simply not as easy, or as pleasant, as it sounded. She dabbed at them pretty much constantly while they waited for the pizza, then, when it finally arrived, she rebandaged the ones that were still dripping. This was getting old, and not to mention gross, _fast._

They didn't say too much over pizza, simply sitting beside each other on the couch, with Jane a little more comfortable, at least for the moment. It had been another long day, and while she couldn't call it _fun_ , what with the festering pus mess that had become her skin, it hadn't been all bad. After several slices of pizza Weller brought her the little white pill and a glass of water without a word, which was lucky since Jane had forgotten all about needing her medicine.

After pizza, clean gloves once again on their hands, he taught her another, much simpler game that he'd brought with him, Connect 4. They played several rounds and Jane learned the tricks quickly, leading to the last few rounds ends without a clear winner. When Jane started yawning, Weller took that as his cue to start cleaning up from the fun of the day, leaving the puzzle out on the coffee table. Jane moved toward the kitchen to work on the dishes, but Weller waved her off, saying that she needed to keep all that poison ivy away from the kitchen that he'd gotten just the way he wanted it. _He's so silly_ , she thought.

Not too much later, he was once again holding a pill in one hand and a glass of water in the other, handing it to her then and there instead of bringing it upstairs. She swallowed it, wincing slightly at the now familiar and much less than appealing after taste, then handling the glass back to him.

He set the glass down and glanced at the stairs, to which she replied simply, "Bossy," trying to hold back a smile. He could just as easily have left then, but instead he just followed her up the stairs, as he'd done before. She went into the bathroom while he walked to the window, thinking that this was a strange ritual, yet somehow it seemed to work. When she came out and started climbing into bed, no longer with gloves on her hands, he thought that she looked tired, but definitely in better spirits than she had been that morning.

"Get some sleep," he told her, "and I hope everything is feeling better and, er, leaking less, in the morning."

"Yeah, you and me _both,"_ she agreed. "Thank you. _Again_." She knew there wasn't a word that would express how thankful she was to him for everything he'd already done for her, so she left it at that. "Good night," she whispered. She was already in bed, her eyes half closed. Though she hadn't asked him, she had a feeling that she would see him in the morning, and that there would be breakfast involved.

"Good night, Jane. See you tomorrow." Though he moved quickly and quietly, she was asleep before he was down the stairs, had collected his bag of games, and headed for home.


	4. Day 4 (Swings and Yearbooks)

**Disclaimer: I do not own Jane or Kurt or Blindspot. Writing about them is simply the outlet for my obsession. And once again today, my itchiness as well.**

 _A/N: As I write this, I'm a day farther along in this ordeal than Jane, and I'm starting to feel so bad for both of us, that I'm considering letting_ _ **her**_ _poison ivy heal before mine… sympathy that the poison ivy gods are_ _ **not**_ _feeling for me, sadly. But we'll see… Also, how hilarious that last night amid all the SDCC pictures and interviews for Blindspot season 2, Jaimie Alexander said that she was allergic to poison ivy! What were the odds? Anyway, enjoy!_

On the fourth day (well, third really, except that Weller counted that first night as Day 1) of Jane's poison ivy ordeal, Weller arrived at about 8:00am and knocked on the door, only to come face to face with a _very_ annoyed Jane, her phone glued to her ear. She opened the door and stepped back to let him pass, then closed the door, not making any effort to hide the annoyance in her voice.

"I really appreciate it, but—" Her eyes narrowed, and he had a sudden urge to step to the side, lest actual lasers come out of them. She was clearly _that_ annoyed. Walking towards the counter with the one bag that he had with him, he set it down quietly, took a seat on a stool, and watched her. He was trying to figure out who in the world she was talking to. After all, she didn't know _that_ many people.

"Yes, of course those clothes have been washed. That was a _week_ ago—" Again, someone had obviously cut her off. He was wondering how much more of this she could take before an actual explosion occurred. He was confused, fascinated and frightened all at once. And he couldn't help but want to wring the neck of whoever was getting Jane so agitated, since _he_ would be the one to have to talk her back down.

"Yes, I know." Her voice was cold and said _stop messing with me or you will regret it._

"No, I wasn't doing yardwork. I don't even have a yard, really. I was on a case. I chased a guy through—" It would not surprised him if she threw her phone across the room any minute now.

"Do I have what to use? For what?" She paused and rolled her eyes. "For identification? You mean like… a book? Or Google? Because I didn't even know which plant it _was_ that I shouldn't have touched, so no, I didn't take a sample or a picture or anything that I can look back at now…"

She was getting rather sarcastic now, and if the person on the other end wasn't picking up on that, then… _wait_. That sounded like someone he knew… and Jane only knew one person, that he knew of, that would ask that kind of questions. He knew Jane's frustration all too well, because that same person did this to him _all the time_ , though he knew that she meant well.

 _Sarah._

Of course, his next thought was that this conversation was _his_ fault, because when he'd run into Sarah the night before, when he'd come in after Sawyer had gone to bed, she'd wanted to know all about what he'd been up to the past few days. He'd told her about Jane's poison ivy. All he could do now was hope that she wouldn't be as annoyed with _him_ as she clearly now was with Sarah. Sarah just liked to mother everyone, despite the fact that she was actually the _younger_ sister. She always had. And Jane, of course, wasn't used to that whatsoever… Weller shook his head. This was a bad combination.

"At this point, it doesn't matter how I _got_ it, does it? I have it, and I'm apparently really allergic to it. _Now I know_. There's a lot of things I don't know about myself. I doubt that was even the most important one."

Her words dripped with sarcasm so thick, he could almost see it. _Poor Jane,_ he thought. _And poor Sarah, if she didn't stop lecturing Jane pretty soon_.

"Does it _matter?_ " Jane said into the phone as she walked to the kitchen counter. Picking up the package that her tiny pills had come in, she read the very long name of the medicine she was on, slowly and carefully into the phone. "Methyl…Prednis…olone." She paused, and then looked as if she wanted to smack the person on the other end of the phone. Taking a deep breath, she began to spell it. "M-E-T-H-Y-L…" Pausing every few letters, because the other person – Sarah – was clearly writing this down, she finally got to the end of the word.

 _Oh God, Sarah's looking up the medicine they gave her,_ Weller thought. _What good can that possibly do? What is she hoping to prove?_ Jane remained quiet, scowling into space, meeting his eyes for only a second before she closed hers in exasperation, shaking her head and taking a deep breath. _Wow,_ Weller thought _, Sarah's really on a roll today._

"Side effects? I don't know. I haven't had the _desired_ side effect, the one where the reaction _goes away,_ I know that…" Again, Weller shook his head. _How was Sarah not getting how mad she was making Jane?_

Jane had been wandering aimlessly as she talked, but suddenly she stopped in place, her eyes blazing. "I'm not _angry_ because it's a side effect of the medicine. I'm _angry_ because I've had pus filled blisters all over my body for _days_ already, they're not going away, they're _still spreading_ , and nothing is helping."

Again, there was quiet, while Jane listened to whatever Sarah was saying. She relaxed visibly, the fight going out of her. "No, Sarah, I know. I'm sorry, too. It's been a rough couple days…"

More quiet, and even a smile. "Yeah, that was the _only_ good thing about the past couple days."

He couldn't be sure, but Jane looked like she was blushing slightly, and she turned around so that her back was to him. "Yeah, I know he does… Yeah, he really is… And he's standing here listening to me, so I should go… Okay, thank you, Sarah… I will… Yep, will do." She turned back around and looked at him, rolling her eyes. He chuckled slightly, knowing that Sarah was one of those people who had trouble hanging up the phone.

"Okay, I'll talk to you soon… Yes, I promise… Okay, bye… No, that's okay… Alright, bye, Sarah." Jane held her phone away from her ear so that she could look at the screen and pushed the red button to be sure the call was disconnected, before her eyes widened in surprise.

"Do you know how _long_ she just talked to me for?" Jane asked.

"More or less than an hour?" Weller inquired, still sitting on the stool from which he'd watched most of the conversation unfold.

"Less, but just barely. _Fifty-eight minutes!_ I don't even know how she _did_ that… And oh, my goodness, I'm sorry, but your sister is…" she stopped, realizing that she wasn't sure if she wanted to use the world to describe Sarah that had popped into her mind. After all, she was his sister. She didn't want to make him mad.

"Overbearing? Impossible? Smothering?" he supplied. Jane smiled, nodding.

"Yes. One of those. I just… _Wow_ …" Jane replied.

"A typical mothering reaction in this situation. It's just that you've never been the object of one of those," he observed, "And yes, it's weird coming from someone who is _not_ your mother," he added. Not wanting her to focus on the _not your mother_ part of the sentence, since she didn't have a mother that she could remember, and not wanting her to think that he was singling her out, he added, "She's been doing that to _me_ for a very, very long time." Jane just shook her head, clearly still in shock. Kurt was just glad that the two of them had managed to end of a friendly note.

"How are you feeling today?" he asked, changing the subject. He wondered how long she'd been up.

"Sore. Pus-filled. Defeated. Annoyed…" She looked at him sadly. "Shall I go on?"

Shaking his head, he smiled at her, glad that he didn't need to talk her off the ledge, after all. "Meds?" he asked.

"Already took 'em," she replied.

He nodded, sufficiently impressed. "Breakfast?"

"Not yet," she said. "Sarah called right after I took my meds, and… you saw how that went."

"I'm sorry, Jane," he told her sincerely. She stared at him, confused.

 _Was he apologizing for Sarah? Why?_ She couldn't figure it out. "Why are _you_ sorry?" she asked, puzzled.

"Well, I hadn't seen her for a few days, so last night when I got home, she was up, and she was asking me what was new, and how things were going, and…" He watched understanding dawn in her face as she put it together. _Sarah had called to drive her crazy because he had told her about her poison ivy._

She smiled at him again. "Don't be silly," she said. "I know she's trying to be nice, she's just…"

"Overbearing, impossible, and smothering?" he asked again.

" _Definitely,_ " Jane replied. "I think I'll wait until I feel better before I talk to her again."

"Probably a smart move," Weller agreed. "So, you hungry?"

"I think I'm going to go shower and get the whole scrubbing thing over with," she said in sudden resignation. "That way I don't have to dread it, and I can enjoy breakfast."

"Makes sense," he nodded. Looking into the bag on the counter, he pulled out several of the now-familiar boxes of Zanfel and more extra-large band aids. "You need more of these?"

"Yes, thank you so much," she said, taking them from him and, while smiling at him, scowling at the boxes in her hands.

"How many of the tubes did you use at once yesterday?" he asked curiously.

She thought back to the previous day's shower, which wasn't as easy as it sounded. She was tending to block out these painful scrubbing sessions as best she could. "Two, I think. But I feel like there's more spots…" Shuddering, she tried not to think about it.

"You have enough?" he asked as she began walking like a prisoner condemned towards that stairs.

"I think so," she replied, then thinking about how much scrubbing the use of those little tubes would entail, she added miserably, "God, I _hope_ so." Trudging up the stairs, she looked back towards him, where he still sat at the counter.

"Call me if you need anything," he said, though he didn't expect her to need anything. Though someone else might have thought that it was a strange thing for him to say to her as she went to take a shower – and that it might even have bordered on slightly inappropriate – she took his statement exactly as it was intended: Weller being his thoughtful self.

While he waited, he made coffee and pulled out the box of donuts that he'd picked up on the way. He enjoyed cooking, but it was always nice to have variety, as well.

Upstairs, Jane removed the bandages that she'd worn overnight on the leaking blisters – one of her least favorite steps in this whole unpleasant process – let the water warm up for a minute, and forced her weary self into the shower. How she longed for the days when she could actually _enjoy_ the feeling of the water against her skin, instead of feeling betrayed by it!

She was interested to notice that this time, for the first time since Weller had told her what those foul bumps on her skin were, the water didn't make them feel as though they were on fire. While the shower wasn't _enjoyable_ , it was at least more bearable. Still, the scrubbing took its toll, and with the existing clusters of blisters having grown, and new ones having begun forming, she found herself scrubbing longer and harder than she had any other day. All at once, she got the feeling that she simply couldn't do it anymore. It was as if, if she didn't sit down, she would fall down sooner than later. It was, if she was being honest with herself, a little bit scary.

Despite the fact that the water hitting her skin was feeling less vengeful today, still, scrubbing each patch of poison ivy was an intense, one to two minute process, and was anything but relaxing. She would realize later that because she was now scrubbing so many more spots than she had been before, and the stress of each one compounded on the previous ones, add to that the fact that she had had her steroids but no food in her system, and she had simply pushed herself too far.

Back in the present, she rinsed the scrub off of her completely, as the instructions insisted was essential for the product to take away the itch from the skin, and, despite the fact that she was nowhere near finished scrubbing, opened the shower curtain and stepped out. Grabbing the only towel she could find, she plopped it down on the floor, and sat down on top of it, breathing heavily. She knew that she wasn't finished, and that she needed to get back in and finish scrubbing herself off. This magical scrub, while expensive and abrasive and now the target of her current displeasure, was a necessary part of making it through this whole poison ivy ordeal. She _had_ to finish.

 _Just give yourself a few minutes,_ she told herself. _Maybe you just need a rest._ She hoped that that was all it was, however, as she'd never felt light-headed before, that she could remember, it was a little bit frightening. The minutes passed slowly and the sound of the water – soothing enough when she didn't have to be _under_ it – helped calm her down so that her breathing could return to normal.

Deciding that she was ready to try to get it over with, she pushed herself up off of the now soaking wet towel on which she'd been sitting, and stepped back into the shower to resume scrubbing. She was able to get to the larger patches without too much trouble, but did a less thorough job, skipping a few smaller ones that weren't really itching _too_ much, just wanting to be done.

Weller started thinking that her shower was taking a little longer than usual, but figured that that could very well be because, as she'd told him so many times, the patches of poison ivy were growing bigger and more plentiful. It really didn't seem fair. He'd have thought that by now, this many days in, she'd be getting more relief than this. She was on a _steroid,_ for goodness sake. Wasn't that the whole reason to take it? To make the reaction _go away?_

It was Saturday, and not quite as easy to see a doctor as it would be on a weekday. She had the advantage of seeing an FBI doctor, which meant that if it was necessary, she _could_ have gone back in over the weekend, if they summoned someone in to see her. He knew that she would resist that option, not wanting to make things difficult for other people, so he figured that they'd just see how things went.

When Jane finally arrived back downstairs, clean and even more traumatized looking than she had on the previous days, and once again dressed in loose cotton pants and a t-shirt, he couldn't help but wonder if something had happened. "Everything okay?" he asked with concern.

"I guess I should have eaten first," she said slowly, sitting down and trying to steady herself. "I didn't really think about how intense the scrubbing is. Even though the _water_ itself wasn't hurting me today, the scrubbing does hurt, and you have to do it pretty hard, and for a few minutes at a time on each spot, and I… all of a sudden I felt like I was going to fall over." Surprise and concern immediately registered in his eyes, so she continued. "I just got out and sat down on a towel for a few minutes, to catch my breath," she added. "I'm okay. I just… I wasn't expecting that."

"You felt it mostly in your head?" he asked. She nodded, smiling thankfully as she picked up the coffee that was waiting for her on the counter. "That's what they call feeling 'light-headed.' Your instinct to sit down was good. And yes, if you have more scrubbing to do tomorrow, please eat breakfast first. Speaking of which," he said, reaching for the box of nine different flavored donuts, "pick one."

Her eyes widened at all of the choices. She'd had donuts before, but she didn't remember them being presented this way. They were all so… pretty. It seemed like a shame to eat any of them. "Why'd you get so many?" she asked, stalled between a chocolate one and another whose exact flavor she wasn't quite sure of.

"They're _donuts_!" he exclaimed. "You gotta have a variety. Besides, we can save them, they'll still be good later, or tomorrow… if we haven't finished them by then." He was as excited by the donuts as just about anything she'd seen him talk about, his little boy grin plastered across his face. It was very cute.

"If you say so," she told him, finally taking the not yet identified flavor of donut. Because why not?

She munched happily, but after hearing about her lightheadedness, he insisted on also making her some eggs, so that she was eating something more substantial than just sugar. Sitting on the stool and watching him work, she simply enjoyed her coffee and the fact that, if she didn't move or look down at herself, she could almost forget for just a moment that she was now a mutant. The last time she'd mentioned this to Weller, he'd said that that made her very, _very_ cool, and mentioned something about a movie, but he said that that would be something for another day.

He handed her the plate of eggs, and carried an identical one that he'd made for himself back around to the counter as well. It was then that she realized just how many meals she and Weller had had together in a row. The team often had lunch together – when they had time to have lunch at all – of course, and occasionally went out after work, but this was very different. Since she had no frame of reference for ever having lived anywhere with another person, this was the closest thing she had. It was nice. There was something comforting about having another person around, especially one that was Weller. It was just about always comforting to have him around.

He saw her smiling slightly, staring at her food as if she was lost in thought. "What's up?" he asked, curious about whether she would tell him what the smile was for.

She wasn't about to tell him _exactly_ what she'd been thinking, but she didn't mind giving him the general idea. "It's going to be hard to go back to work after all this," she gestured around to the various things laying around that were there because he'd brought them with him. "I think I've gotten spoiled. You really didn't have to… but I really appreciate it."

He smiled, but tilted his head to the side, considering what she'd said. " _I_ think," he said, "that you are actually dying to get back to work and get out of this house, and do something besides sitting around."

She nodded back, realizing that he had a good point. "Yeah, I guess you're right," she conceded. "Though I _do_ feel spoiled."

"As a matter of fact," he said, a new idea forming, "I'll bet you'd like to get out of here _right now_ ," he said, eyebrows arching questioningly. "What do you say?"

"Where would we _go_?" she asked, a little glumly. "I'm still contagious. That's not really fair to the masses out there…"

"Well, that doesn't mean that we can't _go outside_. No one said you had to touch anything." There was a quick teasing spark in his eyes that was there one second, and gone the next, and she wondered if it had actually even happened, or if she'd imagined it. "We can just go for a walk. It's a pretty nice day outside. We could just walk around and explore. Hey," he said, another though hitting him, "let me check the weather. If it's cool enough outside then it makes sense to wear gloves anyway – the regular, non-surgical, keeping your hands warm kind." As he brought up the weather forecast on his phone, she smiled. This was sounding better and better.

"Yep," he said, reading from his screen, "perfect late fall weather. Long sleeves, jacket, gloves, a scarf… everything covered. And when we get back, everything – well, everything of yours – in the wash. What do you say?" He looked immensely proud of himself.

"How can I turn down such a perfect outing?" she asked with a smile. She went to put on a long sleeved shirt, checking her blisters one more time before she covered them up, then washed her hands thoroughly, as she had been rather compulsively over the past few days, and hunted down her knit gloves. Finally, her jacket and a scarf wound loosely around her neck gave everything an extra layer of protection. It felt like ages since she had felt so… normal. It also reminded her of back when she'd tried to hide her tattoos by covering them. She didn't really worry about doing that too much anymore, though she felt more self-conscious about them in some situations than in others.

Weller pulled his jacket on as well, even finding gloves that had been long since shoved into his pockets. With that, they went outside to enjoy what was actually a sunny but cool late fall day. Jane wasn't really familiar with the neighborhood, since she didn't do more than come and go through her front door, her detail – or Weller – driving her back and forth to the FBI more often than anywhere else. The area, of course, had been approved by the FBI as a safe house location, but that had been by someone else. It was basically new territory to both of them.

The streets were flanked by narrow, uneven sidewalks, now covered with colorful fallen leaves that had not yet been captured for collection by the city. The houses along Jane's street and the neighboring ones were simple. Nothing big or fancy, nothing too small or rundown, just functional and yet still quaint. Charming, without standing out.

As they walked along the sidewalk, Jane slightly behind Weller on the sidewalk, which was not quite wide enough for two people, Jane lost her balance and almost tripped, catching herself with a hand on Weller's arm. She blushed slightly as she righted herself again, then dropped her hand casually, unable to find an excuse to leave it there. On a whim, however, he grabbed the hand that had been on his arm seconds before, holding it in his own and turning to see her reaction.

"Don't trip," he told her simply. "I think poison ivy is enough of a problem… you don't need any other injuries." He squeezed her hand gently, a mischievous look in her eyes. She shook her head at him, but said nothing.

Half a block later, they came to a little playground with all of the basics. A few swings, a climbing structure that started with various stairs and ladders at one end, leading to two different styles of slides at the other end. It was in decent shape, though not brand new, the color of the plastic no longer bright as it undoubtedly had been when it was first put in. As chilly as it was outside, it wasn't a surprise that they were there alone, and they took advantage of it. The equipment was geared toward "older" kids, probably around twelve year olds, so while it was clearly too small for them, they could still fit through they openings if they ducked down a little. The only exception to this was one of the slides, which, closed in like a tube that spiraled downward to the ground, was a little too tight for Weller. Instead, he slid down the straight slide, whose open sides were still a tight fit, but not as restrictive.

Jane had beat him to the ground, having less trouble getting down the slide than he had, and was now sitting on one of the swings, pushing herself back and forth slowly. He sat down on the swing next to her, pushing off the ground hard and then pumping his legs, managing to tuck them far enough underneath him as he went backwards that they somehow didn't drag on the ground. Jane, not having tried swinging over the past few months, of course, watched his technique and in a matter of minutes, was also flying high up in the air. It was a new feeling for her, and she liked it.

"This is _fun_!" she called to Weller as the wooshed past each other, back and forth, back and forth.

"We used to swing for _hours_ ," he called back. "It was always one of my favorite things to do outside."

He didn't specify who the ' _we'_ was that he had referred to, and it seemed like maybe it was better that way. Maybe it had been the two of them. Maybe it had been him with Sarah. Maybe it had been all three of them. Whoever it had been, it had been something that he loved to do…

 _And he seems to be enjoying himself now, too_ , she thought. She kept going until her legs started to feel tired. It was an exhilarating feeling, and she could understand why kids loved it so much. It was almost like you were flying. Eventually, she let herself slow down, and though it felt much too soon, her feet were back on the ground before she knew it.

"That was so much fun," she told him, still sitting in the swing. She hated to give up her seat there, even though she was no longer flying through the air.

"We'll have to do it again," he agreed, standing in front of her. "You ready to go? It's about time for some lunch. And someone I know needs to take some medicine." She narrowed her eyes at him, not wanting to think about her house, or the medicine, or the blisters that currently hid beneath several layers of protective clothing. It was the freest she'd felt in days – the days that felt like _months_.

"Do we have to?" she sighed unhappily.

"No, but living out our days at this playground isn't really good long term planning. First of all, there's no shelter here, other than that playhouse. Not really gonna cut it. Then, you know, there's the lack of running water and other conveniences. I don't know about you, but I'm not willing to give that up. Then, well, there's no food here. And I'm already getting hungry. And I'm thinking that there's still leftover pizza at your place."

She looked up at him stubbornly, though after that speech, with a slight smile. She knew that she couldn't live at the playground, of course, but going back meant… _I don't want to even think about it_ , she told herself.

"We can have a leftover pizza picnic on the stoop," he told her, only then getting a full smile out of her. It wasn't hard to figure out that for her, going back meant going inside, which in turn meant shedding the protective layers and going back to being contagious, and having to stare at and be conscious of all those pus-filled blisters. When he could get her to go back home but still put off the inevitable a little while longer, all while bringing food into the mix? That had been what had sold her, he knew.

He held out his hand to her and she took it, having finally been sufficiently convinced. She stood up with his help – though of course, she didn't really _need_ help to stand up – and they walked back toward her safe house slowly, still holding hands. After so many days and so much conversation, they just walked beside each other enjoying the cool air and the chance to be outside, Jane especially. It was like freedom from a cage that she hadn't expected to get out of any time soon. Their hands feel away from each other as they approached her building, but it was okay… it wasn't like either of them was going anywhere.

Stepping back inside the door, she immediately felt boxed in. "Just hang on a second," he told her, walking to the kitchen to take out the leftover pizza. It was an interesting feeling to be quite that familiar with the contents of her kitchen, since he'd put them all there himself. With anyone else, it might have felt a little awkward. But with Jane, it felt comfortable, _normal_ even. He stuck the pizza in the microwave on a paper towel, then, when it was warmed up, set it back in the box, bringing the box and some extra paper towels back with him to the door.

Back outside, they sat down on the small stoop outside Jane's door, the pizza box balancing unevenly across both of their laps. Gloves off, since the only thing they were going to touch was pizza, they leaned back against the door and looked out at the street as they ate. Jane's detail sat in their car almost directly in front of them, and they nodded at them. Even though it was the middle of the day, there were very few cars going by.

"I'd almost forgotten what the outside world was like," Jane said.

"It hasn't been _that_ long since you've been outside," he protested. "It's only been a few days."

She sighed heavily, leaning her head back against the door behind her. "A long few days. And I can only imagine how long it would've seemed if I'd been here by myself."

"You don't have to worry about that, though," he said, looking over at her.

She smiled, still looking out ahead of her toward the street. "Thanks to you," she told him quietly, finally glancing over at him. He just smiled, looking slightly embarrassed.

"Hey, I brought something to show you," he said, standing up and opening the door. They'd finished the pizza, and he took the box back inside. At the counter, he picked up the bag he'd brought over that morning, leaving the pizza box in its place. Before he came back outside, he walked around the corner into the kitchen and filled up a glass of water, then picked up one of the tiny white pills from Jane's pack of medicine. With these three things, he walked back out to the stoop, where he closed the door behind him.

He saw Jane wipe her hands on the paper towel, and then put her gloves back on.

"First of all," he said as he handed her the glass of water, "your medicine."

"You are _really_ on top of that schedule, aren't you?" she teased him as he sat back down beside her, putting the tiny white pill into her other hand. She put it at the back of her tongue and drank the water.

"Haven't forgotten one yet. Which is more than I can say for _you_ , Miss Poison Ivy," he told her proudly.

She just rolled her eyes at him as she put the glass down. "So what'd you bring?" she asked, changing the subject.

"Total humiliation," he said. "I'm fairly sure I'm going to regret this… but these are my high school yearbooks."

"Pictures of you in high school?" she asked with interest, her eyes lighting up. "Where?" She grabbed for one, but he pulled them back into his lap.

"Relax, I'll show you," he said, opening the first one slowly and flipping through the pages. "Ninth grade. This picture was… unfortunate… I mean…" He shook his head, finding the one he was looking for and pointing at it. "That's me." He gritted his teeth, glancing at her and waiting for her reaction.

"That's _you_?" she laughed, leaning over to get a better look. "That's… no, that's _not_ you!"

"That's me, alright," he replied, shaking his head and looking away. "Like I said, _very_ unfortunate."

"Awww, but… but you grew out of it though," she said as she tried to keep from laughing even harder.

"Ninth grade was a rough year for me," he told her defensively. She looked at him and tried not to laugh, but it was just so hard.

"Are you in any other pictures in this book?" she asked.

"Sadly, yes," he replied, flipping through a few more pages to some candid shots. "Despite the unfortunate state of my hair, one of my friends was on the yearbook committee. I'm pretty sure that he picked the ones of me that he did on purpose…" He stopped on another page, which featured Weller in another, even more unfortunate candid picture. "There," he said, pointing at himself. "I can't believe I'm even showing you this."

Jane grabbed the book then, almost doubling over with laughter without being able to stop herself. "Awwww, I'm sorry, I mean… but look at how…" another wave of laughter made her temporarily unable to talk. "You were so cute," she said, turning to him and putting her hand on his shoulder sympathetically. "And besides… you grew out of it."

He just smiled and shook his head in mild embarrassment. He'd brought this on himself, after all. No one had forced him to show her these pictures of him. There was certainly no one else he would have shown them to besides Jane.

She had managed to calm herself down, and asked him if there were any other pictures of him.

"Yes, and I can't believe I'm going to show them to you," he said, pulling the book back toward him so that he could turn the pages. He found himself on the pages with pictures marked "Mathletes" and "Science Club," to Jane's delight.

"I wish I had known you then," Jane said suddenly, without ever realizing what she was saying. Weller looked at her as her words penetrated his brain, and her mouth opened as if to say something else… something that would somehow take it back… but she didn't know what to say. She _had_ known him, not at that time, but of course, much longer ago, but she didn't even remember the short time that they _had_ known each other.

Her words hung in the air, but neither of them knew what to say for a minute.

And yet, what she'd said was the genuine truth, and he knew that. There was no reason for it to be awkward. Neither one of them had been responsible for what had happened in the years in between, and there was no point in making something bigger out of it than it needed to be.

"I do, too," he said slowly, smiling back at her.

"So," she asked quickly, ready to be past that particular moment, "are you in any other pictures in this book?"

"Not in that book. So we move on to tenth grade…" In tenth grade his hair hadn't been quite so… weird… but everything else about him still seemed to scream _painfully awkward._ Once again, Jane had a field day. Just like in the first book, he started with his individual school picture, moving on to clubs and candids. Tenth grade found him in "Mathletes" and "Debate Team."

"You dropped the Science Club?" Jane asked in mock horror. "What would Patterson say?"

"I think maybe Science was better off without me," he replied. "I needed to leave that to Patterson and the other experts."

In his eleventh grade yearbook, Weller had started looking more like… himself. She could see more of Weller and less of the awkward kid he'd been. His individual picture was serious – not that his others hadn't been, but with the awkwardness gone, it was perhaps more noticeable. That year he found himself on the pages for "Debate Team" but also for the Baseball team, as well as one candid shot, which was, again, very serious.

"You look like a serious kid in here," Jane observed. Weller just nodded in agreement, his lips pressed together. She got the feeling that because he wasn't commenting at all, she should be able to figure out why… it wasn't like him to simply clam up when…

Thinking about it a little harder, she felt like she was catching on. The yearbooks were definitely showing the progression of Weller into the man she now knew, and knowing what she did about his – _their_ – backstory… it was falling into place. Despite the fact that none of it had been within her control, she couldn't help but feel a little bit responsible for the progression that she was seeing in front of her eyes.

Finally, there was his twelfth grade yearbook, and she looked over at him and smiled as he started to open it, now looking at it as if he wasn't quite sure he wanted to go through with it. As if maybe he'd had enough. She reached across the cover and curled her gloved hand over his where he was attempting to thread his fingers between the pages to open it.

"If you've had enough of a walk down memory lane, it's fine… we can skip the last one," she assured him.

He shook his head quickly. "No, if I can bring myself to show you that ninth grade book, this one should be by far the least painful," he replied. He was smiling at her, but it wasn't quite reaching his eyes. Taking him at his word, she removed her hand and let him open the book, leaning her shoulder against his as he found himself in his senior year's set of pictures. A more formal portrait, since he was a senior, as well as a few candids, the Baseball team and the Wrestling team. And still, that same serious expression in every one of them. He almost looked… haunted.

They closed the last of the four yearbooks and she was left with a strange mix of emotions. "That was a lot of fun," she told him. "Thanks." He pulled the four yearbooks back into a pile and set them down beside him.

"It seemed like something you'd enjoy," he said, nodding, as if his attention was suddenly elsewhere. Once again, it was as though they were both lost in thought, staring out at the street. It was getting a little bit chilly to be sitting outside, even as bundled up as they were.

"We should probably…" he started, looking over at her. Jane had a pretty good idea of what he was about to say, however, and she wasn't a happy camper. The look on her face resembled a sad puppy.

"Do we have to?" she asked, hating the whine she heard in her voice.

"Yes," he said. "Not forever. Just for now. Besides, I'm going to cook dinner."

"Oh, yeah?" she asked, "What are you making?"

"You won't know until we go inside, because I won't tell you until then," he promised her.

Standing up, she paused and looked at him as he did the same. "I know, I know, ' _bossy,'_ " he said, imitating her.

At that she grinned, and they went back inside. They hadn't noticed that it had started to get colder and darker outside as the afternoon had worn on, so the warmth and light of inside was a welcome surprise. As Weller set his yearbooks back over on the counter, she paused in the middle of the room, starting to pull one of her gloves off, but then stopping, for no other reason than the fact that she didn't want to. They were so much nicer than the latex ones. She could feel like a human being, and not some sort of science experiment gone wrong.

"You ready to trade those in for the others?" he asked, seeing her standing in the middle of the room and figuring that she simply didn't want to take her gloves off and go back to feeling like a "mutant," as she had said earlier. He hadn't yet had a chance to introduce her to the X-Men, so she hadn't gotten the reference he'd made.

She walked slowly in his direction, hoping that she could put off the return to the latex gloves. Stopping in front of him, she grudgingly removed the fabric gloves and put them into her jacket pockets, then took the ones he was holding out to her. She made a face at him, but then smiled. "I'm going to go throw all this in the wash," she said, meaning her gloves, jacket, all of the extra layers. At that point, whether it was overkill or not, she would do almost anything to get rid of this condition, even if she went a little overboard. It certainly couldn't _hurt_ to wash everything.

When she came back into the living room, gloves on, Weller was in the kitchen. "Go work on that puzzle for a little while, this won't take long," he told her. She glanced back at him, looking quite at ease in her kitchen. She was fairly sure that Weller had cooked in her kitchen more in the past few days than she had since she'd moved in. She sat down in front of the puzzle, but her mind was elsewhere.

A little while later, he called her over to the counter for spaghetti and meatballs, and only then did she realize just how hungry she was. It looked and smelled _amazing_ … and that was exactly how it tasted, as well. "Wow," she said as she inhaled the scent. "I mean, I'm _not_ enjoying the whole poison ivy thing, but then again… it has some serious perks." He chuckled at her and shook his head.

"Something tells me that we can't avoid saving the world forever," he said. "One of these days, we're going to have to go back to work."

"Yes, and let's hope it's _soon_ ," she said, quickly and emphatically, before realizing exactly how her words _could_ be taken. "I mean… I know how lucky I am, I just…" She bit her lip, afraid to make things worse and not better.

He chuckled at her for the second time. "Don't worry, I know what you mean. It's been a lot of fun hanging out here and relaxing, but the two of us… we need to be doing something. Fighting for something. Solving all those tattoos that are being obscured by…" He looked at her, wondering if she was going to say what he thought she would.

"…The _pus,_ " she replied dramatically, exactly as he'd expected. "Yeah, maybe it's some sort of _extra_ clue – _now_ see if you can follow the clues when they fill up with pus and the tattoos look completely different…" They both chuckled at the idea, and then fell quiet again as they ate.

When they'd finished, Weller took the plates back into the kitchen and rinsed them, insisting that Jane needed to keep the pus out of the area where food was prepared. She knew he was just saying that, even though it _sounded_ like it made sense. She wandered back over to the couch and stared at the puzzle pieces for a while, but she wasn't really looking at them.

The dishes now taken care of, he walked over with, once again, a glass of water and her medicine. "You're like… a human alarm clock, aren't you?" she asked him, once again very impressed at how good he was at remembering her medicine. She drank the water and then resumed staring past the puzzle, now more into space than at the table.

"You okay?" he asked, wondering what had her so preoccupied.

"I just wonder… what _I_ was like back then… in high school. Or… wherever I was. I have no idea. It's… strange. It makes sense not to know about _someone else's_ life, but when it's yours, it's… it doesn't feel right."

He nodded, looking out into the distance beside her. She wasn't wrong. It _would_ be strange to be in her position, and he really couldn't imagine it. "We're just at the beginning, Jane," he said. "You may not know this about me, but I'm _pretty_ determined when I go after something. And we're _going_ to find out the truth." She turned and looked at him, smiling slowly. That much she _did_ know about him, after all.

Out of nowhere, a yawn escaped her. It had gotten late quickly once again, and another poison ivy day was now at a close. He looked at her knowingly, and at this point, didn't need to say a word. "Bossy," she said with a smile. To his surprise, she stood up and walked across the room to retrieve her own medicine, swallowing the last pill of the day and the glass of water while standing by the sink.

He went to the counter and picked up his yearbooks, walking back towards the front door. She looked at him in surprise, since it was the first time since she'd had poison ivy that he hadn't followed her up the stairs. She stopped in front of him, but didn't say anything.

"You got this," he said by way of explanation. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Unless someone blows up something important?" she asked with a smile.

"If someone blows up something important, maybe I don't make it for breakfast… but I'll see you tomorrow. Okay?"

"Sounds like a plan," he told him. "Thanks, Weller. _Again._ "

He chuckled at her and pushed the door open, and after it had closed, listened for the lock to click behind him. When it did, he walked back to his car. This felt almost like being on vacation, and yet, he knew that it couldn't last much longer. The world didn't wait indefinitely for anything, even Jane's allergic reaction to poison ivy.

A few minutes later, Jane climbed into bed, sighing that another day had come and gone while her poison ivy still _hadn't_ gone. She supposed, however, as she drifted off to sleep, that if she had to have a contagious skin condition, at least she had really good company.


	5. Day 5 (Pastries and Stars)

**Disclaimer: I do not own Jane or Kurt or Blindspot. Writing about them is simply the outlet for my obsession. And yet again today, my apparently never ending itchiness as well.**

 _A/N:_ _ **I have no idea what to write**_ _are pretty much the magic words when it comes to me and writing. I suffered through trying to get this chapter written most of the day yesterday, without inspiration, and then at the end of the day I had so many ideas (mostly because MonkeyPajamas is a genius and she was feeding them to me) that I ran out of hours in the day to get them all down. So here's another eventful day for Jane and Kurt. I hope you enjoy it – and thank you so much to those who've been reviewing!_

Sunday dawned as another clear and cool day, the last day that Jane would have to suffer through before she could go back to the doctor and request stronger drugs – since she was clearly resistant to the ones she was on. She laid in bed, trying to be as still as possible. If she didn't move, she could pretend that there was nothing wrong. If she didn't move, she _almost_ didn't feel the offensive blisters, which for the most part, had formed larger clusters that had each joined together slowly over the past days to form huge super-blisters, in a Voltron-like show of force. Not that she would have understood that reference, but that was what had happened on her skin.

What she did understand, however, was that it would be another day of sitting still, either covering herself with bandages or, the less than appealing alternative, letting the giant sores sit open so that, as her doctor had advised, they could be exposed to the air and dry up, allowing them to heal. _Which they were stubbornly not doing_. She had long since reached a compromise with herself, putting giant band aids on the blisters on her legs, since they showed no sign of running dry of pus, while leaving her arms exposed and blotting the slow flow from them every few minutes. This was what her life had been reduced to, or so it felt like. For every minute she was awake, all there was to worry about was pus.

She missed chasing down bad suspects and looking for leads. She missed working with the team – even Reade, who didn't even try to hide his distrust of her. She missed being a part of the world outside of her safe house, even as limited as her world as a tattooed FBI asset had been. Most of all, she missed having skin that didn't hurt.

If that wasn't a good reason to go back to sleep, she didn't know what was. Weller had said he'd see her today, but of course, she had no idea what time. Judging from the past 4 days, probably early, but who knew? She didn't know what time it actually _was,_ anyway, so it didn't really matter. It was late enough for her room to be filled with sunlight, but her clock was behind her, and even the thought of turning over was simply too daunting at that particular time. Instead, she closed her eyes and went back to sleep.

When she woke up again, still not knowing what time it was and therefore having no idea how long it had been since the last time she'd woken up, the house was just as quiet as before. The light in her room had changed slightly, telling her that the angle of the sun was different, and therefore she had probably slept for more than a few minutes. Finally forcing herself to turn over, she groaned as she leaned on the blisters that she least wanted to lean on – it was inevitable, since they felt like they were everywhere.

The clock said 9:42 am. She'd slept past 9:30? It was unlike her to sleep past _7:30_ on her laziest days. Of course, she hadn't been sleeping well these past few nights, being understandably uncomfortable. Still, it was late enough that it seemed reasonable to force herself out of bed.

The other thing that surprised her was that so far there was no sign that Weller was there. Not that she would have known if he'd been sitting downstairs doing something quietly, but she couldn't help but wonder. He'd just shown up all of the other mornings before she'd had a chance to wonder. There were none of the delicious smells of breakfast, or even just coffee, to which she'd so quickly grown accustomed. It was this curiosity that drew her out of bed now, aches and stiffness and all, as she walked to the stairway.

Stepping off the bottom step, she looked around and was surprised not to see a single sign of him. No bags, no phone, nothing out of place from the way she'd left it the night before. _No one making breakfast_. Not that she couldn't feed herself, of course.

 _You're so spoiled,_ she told herself. _Don't be silly, you're fine. He obviously has something to do. That is allowed, you know. After all, he's spent all of the past_ _ **four days**_ _entertaining you._

Still, the house felt a little bit empty.

Walking back upstairs, she walked over to where her phone was plugged in on the nightstand. She clicked the button to wake up the screen, and was greeted with a text notification. Opening it, she saw that it was from Weller.

 _No one blew up anything important, but I've been assured that my help this morning is critical. We shall see. I'll see you later. Oh, and don't forget to take your medicine (Yep, bossy)_

She read the text, smiling at the ending, and put her phone back down. The house was so… quiet. Too quiet. Going outside by herself, the only other alternative, would mean having her detail along since there were no other FBI agents present. While she appreciated the necessity for their constant presence, it was too much like having a chaperone – two chaperones, to be precise – with her everywhere. That took the fun right out of the idea of going out in the first place. Sighing heavily, she was seriously considering laying back down and going back to sleep when her stomach rumbled. Apparently she was getting up after all.

After brushing her teeth, she wandered back downstairs. She pushed the miscellaneous things that Weller had left on the counter around, reaching for the donut box. Opening it curiously, she found that there were still five donuts left. She ate one of them, more painfully aware of the silence around her than ever, wondering if she could figure out the coffee machine without assistance. _It can't be_ _ **that**_ _hard,_ she thought. She'd never watched Weller do it here, but she had witnessed it being done once or twice in the kitchen at the FBI. Surely she could figure out a coffee machine. After all, she apparently had skills that even she had not yet discovered. Maybe making coffee was one of them.

Ten minutes and two failed attempts later, she was pleased to finally see what looked like coffee dripping into the glass pot at the bottom of the machine. If it actually _tasted_ right, then that would be an even bigger accomplishment. While she waited, she contemplated attempting eggs, but then remembered that she'd been warned off cooking in general unless there was someone there to make sure she didn't burn the place down. Fairly sure that that unofficial, yet wise, restriction had not yet been lifted, she abandoned the idea of eggs for the time being.

Just before leaving the kitchen with her coffee, which tasted _almost_ right, though still a little off, she remembered that she needed to take her medicine. She didn't want to have Weller accuse her of not actually _wanting_ to recover from her poison ivy reaction. Once that task was behind her, she had the whole day stretching in front of her… which of course, could be a good thing or a bad thing. _Be positive,_ she told herself… but that was easier said than done.

She sat down in front of the puzzle on the coffee table that they'd started working on, but her heart wasn't in it. Somehow it had been much more fun when it had been the two of them working on it together. She took one of the books from the stack that Patterson had lent her, sitting carefully on the couch to see if she could get herself interested in it. Thirty minutes later, she'd given it her best try, and even though the plot seemed like it would be at least mildly interesting – a tough female detective who's working a case of international identity theft – she couldn't get into it.

Wandering upstairs, she took a quick shower, not bothering with the scrubbing. The skin around her blisters wasn't really irritated anymore, which was what the scrub was supposed to alleviate. Now what was left was simply the blisters themselves, and all the special, million dollar scrub in the world wasn't scrubbing those things off, sadly.

Dressed again, still thinking that she could hear a pin drop in the house, she wondered why she hadn't heard anything from Weller by now – it was already 10:45 – and realized that she hadn't checked her phone since before she went downstairs the second time. If it had made noise while she was down there, she may or may not have heard it. _If_ he'd tried to reach her, of course. She walked slowly across the room toward her nightstand, where her phone was still plugged in. The whole way there, she told herself that it wasn't a big deal whether or not he'd called or texted her. It wasn't as though they'd done anything remotely important there the past four days, just basically passed the time, waiting for her poison ivy to go away…

W _hich it was apparently_ _ **never**_ _going to do,_ she thought in annoyance. She'd barely been up for an hour and already she was wishing that she could just go to bed and be done with the day. There didn't seem to be anything redeeming about it. No, Weller had been right when he'd said that she probably couldn't wait to get back to work. She couldn't wait to be able to move without her skin aching, she couldn't wait to not be covered in blisters that looked more like a serious skin disease than an allegedly minor inconvenience, she couldn't wait to… to feel like a human being again. As hard as it had been to get used to the tattoos, it had been easier than this.

Unplugging her phone from the charger, she woke up the screen and saw that there weren't any messages or notifications. She scowled at it, despite the fact that she knew that it wasn't the phone's fault. It was only doing its job, after all. As she stared at it, she was startled to feel a vibration, hear a loud _ding_ , and seeing a box pop up on her screen to tell her that she had a new message, all at the same time. Not expecting so much activity, she almost dropped the phone in surprise. The text was from Weller.

 _On my way. Long story._

Short and sweet, but at least it was good news. She felt better, but at the same time she felt annoyed at herself for caring so much. Really, she couldn't win. She'd wanted him to come over, but now that he was on his way, she was annoyed with herself for being glad that he was coming over. After being annoyed with herself for being disappointed that he _hadn't_ come over.

 _You know you sound crazy, even to me,_ she told herself.

Sighing, went to take the now clean laundry from the day before out of the dryer, putting each piece back where it belonged. It was mind-numbing work, but that was sort of the point just then. She was in a bad mood and she was overthinking everything and she knew it. Taking a deep breath, she moved to the kitchen to clean up what little leftover mess she'd made earlier in her trial and error session with the coffee machine and then neglected in her triumph of actually making coffee successfully. She was quickly running out of small, mundane tasks, and she could feel her skin beginning to crawl – and not in the literal, itchy way that she had been feeling for nearly a week, either.

She'd almost finished emptying the trash from the various trashcans around the house – not that there was much in them – when she heard a knock on the door. Again, she reminded herself that she was going to be nice, that she'd _wanted_ his company and that acting grumpy wouldn't make him want to spend yet another day with her.

 _I wouldn't blame him,_ she thought as she trudged to the door, _**I**_ _don't want to spend another day with me._

She checked the peephole dutifully, and seeing Weller's face in the tiny view, obligingly swung the door open. When he saw her, he looked at her with a mixture of dismay and amusement, stepping forward as if he was going to put one or both arms around her, but stopping himself when he was close enough, simply standing and looking at her. "You look _miserable,"_ he told her, though not unkindly. From anyone else, it would probably would have come across as rude. But the way he'd said it, it was more of a sympathetic observation, designed to show her that he could tell how she was feeling.

Stepping back and closing the door behind him, her face twisted into almost a scowl. "I _am_ miserable," she reminded him. "I'm going _crazy_ here!" Again, he stepped toward her and looked like he was going to reach for her somehow, but he stopped himself. Instead, he stood very still, just inches in front of her, looking into her eyes intently. He'd never tried to calm her down this way before, but it was worth a shot. She continued to look back at him with laser focus, and he thought he might be wrong, but it appeared that the fight was slowly going out of her. Very slowly.

"I'm sorry about this morning," he told her, reluctantly looking away and walking into the main part of the living room. "Reade called and convinced me that I needed to go into the office. He was… trying to prove something. I think he thought he was doing some sort of… I don't know. "Jane intervention?" Trying to convince me that I should've been at work, and… not here… though he didn't come right out and say it for quite a while."

"He's not too happy to have me on the team to start with, and he's not exactly subtle about it…" she began, following him into the room and walking past him to sit back down on the couch. This discussion wasn't exactly helping her mood.

"Reade's a good guy, he'll come around. He means well, he just… he's worrying about nothing," Weller said, looking at her from where he stood in the middle of the room.

She smiled weakly at him at shrugged, as if to say, "If you say so."

"I'm sorry, Jane," he said again.

Her face clouded over then. "You don't have to be sorry!" she said, more vehemently than she'd meant to. "It's not your job to babysit me. It's perfectly reasonable to assume that as an adult, I can handle being home alone." She crossed her arms over her chest, knowing that that it didn't help her claim of being an adult, and hating how she was talking to him, hating him for being sorry, and hating herself for feeling all of the things she felt in the first place.

"Of course it's not my job," he said, far more kindly than she'd just spoken to him, "but as your friend, I don't want to leave you alone when I know that you need someone. _It's okay to need someone._ And I know that you don't have anyone else to call..."

Her scowl deepened then, and he knew he'd touched a nerve.

"I'm not saying it to be _mean_ , Jane, it's just…"

"I'm not mad at you. That would be _stupid_. I'm mad at _me…_ " She stopped there. That part was supposed to have stayed in her head.

"Why?" he asked quietly, sitting down next to her.

Figuring that she didn't have much choice to explain, since hiding something so obvious from a trained FBI agent who knew her better than she knew herself was beyond pointless, she sighed and began. "Because I don't want to feel like a needy person. I'm _not_ a needy person…" She stopped and pursed her lips in frustration.

"You're right, you're _not_ needy. You can most certainly take care of yourself, and I've seen you do it. You saved my life one of the first days after I met you, without any memory of anyone teaching you how. And you're someone who thrives in difficult situations, someone who doesn't just give up, even though **most** people, if they were in your place, would." He stopped and looked at her.

She glanced at him, and then away again quickly. It was amazing that someone else could see her so differently than she saw herself. She didn't see any of the things that Weller saw in her.

"So then this extremely dedicated, focused person who is accustomed to channeling their energy into action is told that they have to be isolated from the rest of the world and sit and do _nothing,_ and not only that, they get to have these painful patches of pus all over their body for days and days on end…"

Once again she glanced at him quickly and then looked away. For some reason, even though what he was saying was far from critical, it was hard for her to hear. Or maybe that was _why_ it was hard to hear… For some reason it was easier to beat herself up than to hear him say _nice_ things about her.

"I think that would drive absolutely _anyone_ , myself included, pretty stir crazy. As a matter of fact, I remember a time I _was_ in that situation – sort of. I had chicken pox in fourth grade, and I was out of school for at least a week, maybe more… no one could come near me. It's a very itchy rash that you get all over your body, and if you scratch it, it leaves scars. Most of the time, once you get it, you can't get it again. Some parents would expose their kids to it _on purpose_ to get it out of the way when they were young, because if you get it when you're older it's actually much more serious. They have a shot to prevent it, now, but it wasn't available back then. It didn't come out until I was about fifteen. Chicken pox is even _more_ contagious than poison ivy. It can be transferred by any bodily fluids, not just that oil on your skin. It was _miserable_."

She nodded without looking back at him. It wasn't exactly the same, but it was something. And she couldn't overlook how hard he was working to get through to her.

"It's been five days already, and you're crawling out of your skin. Or, as I should say, you're only _wishing_ that you could crawl out of your skin." He looked down at the blisters on her arms and smiled at his joke. She shook her head, smiling ever so slightly. "Of course you are." He said it like it was the most normal thing in the world. "And it's always nice when someone can take your mind off of what's bothering you, especially when it's something really frustrating, like what you're going through… and that has been my goal."

"You're good at it," she said quietly.

"Well, I can't do a very good job when I don't show up. And that's especially bad when I promise that I _will_ show up."

"You never said you'd be here first thing. You specifically said 'tomorrow,' and made it clear that if something happened, you'd still be here later. And you are. You did exactly as you promised," she reminded him.

"Jane," he said, and then waited until she turned to look at him until he spoke again. "I'm sorry you had a rough morning. How about we leave it at that?"

"Okay," she said, holding eye contact with him this time. "Thanks."

"You wanna go out? I have an idea…" He suddenly looked excited.

"Out? Like… among the people?" she said in mock disbelief.

"Don't worry, there'll be absolute minimal exposure to civilians," he replied. "We can't let them know about these superpowers of yours…"

She made a face at him, but then relaxed her face into a smile and stood up. "I'm ready when you are," she called as she went to retrieve her jacket and all the rest of her gear. It was pretty obvious that she was happy to be getting outside again.

Not having taken his jacket _off_ when he'd just walked in, he walked to the door and opened it. Once again, it was a beautiful day outside. She appeared beside him within less than a minute, suddenly looking much happier than she had only a few minutes before. Without hesitating, she walked right out through the door, holding up her keys to show that she had them, already on the sidewalk. He shook his head, chuckling at her sudden change of mood, and locked the door behind them.

"Let's go this way," he said, indicating the opposite direction that they'd turned the previous day. They walked a few blocks on the main road, where the sidewalk was wider and in better shape than the one they'd walked on to the playground the day before. He didn't take her hand that time, which she couldn't help but notice, but she told herself that she was being silly. He wasn't her boyfriend. She had no reason to expect that he would. They were simply… close. At times like this, that fact – that they weren't any one particular thing to each other – was _maddening_.

He thought about taking her hand, but it seemed a little… he didn't know exactly. Yes, he'd done it, twice, the previous day. But he was painfully aware that he was reaching over the line when he did that. He knew that Reade found his behavior with Jane inappropriate for an asset and a handler, even _without_ knowing much about how they acted in private, and while he didn't care what Reade thought, per se, he knew that if he pushed it too far, he wouldn't be able to defend his objectivity, even to himself. And so he told himself that no, it couldn't be a _habit._ That didn't mean that he had to keep himself three feet away at all times, he just needed to be… aware of what he was doing.

A few blocks down, they crossed the street and then continued another block, rounding a corner and suddenly finding themselves in front of a bakery whose window was filled with some of the most delicious looking pastries she'd ever seen – not that that was saying a lot, but still… they certainly looked amazing.

"It's probably our responsibility to try some of those. In order to find out more about your neighborhood, in the name of… _security_ ," he said, looking into the window. "What do you think?"

"I think I'm hungry," she said, nodding in agreement.

"Well then, let's see what they have inside," he said, opening the door for her. She smiled as she went in in front of him.

The smells inside the bakery were heavenly, and they couldn't decide on one thing, so after careful consideration in front of the glass case, they each chose a few that they wanted to try. Really, she wanted to scarf them all down then and there, but she also wanted to maintain a little bit of dignity… this was her neighborhood, after all. She might want to come back here.

Jane was still staring at the case when Weller nudged her with his elbow, his hands now full of the pastries they'd chosen, as well as two coffees, which he balanced in his other arm. "A little help here?" he asked good-naturedly.

"Oh! Wow!" she exclaimed. Everything smelled so good, and now coffee, too… She grabbed the two cups from where he'd balanced them between his arm and his side, and they walked outside. Set against the building, there were three small, red tables, with two chairs each. Somehow they hadn't seen them on their way in, since they'd been solely focused on the food. They chose the farthest one from the door and sat down, barely able to wait to break into the food.

While Weller reached into the bag, Jane took a sip of her coffee. "Mmmmm," she said in surprise. "This is… wow. This coffee…"

He chuckled at her, and her reaction to the coffee. Having sipped his already, he knew that it certainly was good. He set the different pastries on top of the bag they'd come in, and broke off a piece of one of them, holding it up for her to take.

"Thanks," she said, taking it from him and popping it in her mouth. Her reaction was very much like the one she'd had to the coffee, except even more emphatic. She closed her eyes and savored it, not opening them again until she'd finished chewing. "Try that one," she said. " _Right now_." He laughed, shaking his head.

"Now who's bossy?" he asked, grinning at her. She pursed her lips, trying to hide a grin, and looked away to keep from laughing. Still, he tried it, and he nodded in agreement. "It _is_ good, I'm not gonna argue," he told her. "Next one?"

"Definitely," she said impatiently. When he didn't pick another one up right away, she grabbed the one closest to her and tore off a piece, which she handed to _him_ , before breaking off another piece for herself. "Mmmmm," she murmured, closing her eyes again. Finally she opened them, taking a sip of her coffee. When he'd found out that morning that there was a bakery only a few blocks from her place, he had had no idea that the outing would be such a great success.

They continued on like this until they'd eaten pieces from each of the pastries, and then Jane sat back in her chair, looking happier than he'd seen her in a long time. He had a feeling that for the first time in five days, she wasn't thinking about poison ivy whatsoever, and he considered this to be his greatest accomplishment so far. "Did you know this place was here?" she asked him suddenly. "You steered us straight here."

"I may have done a little research," he replied with a smile. She brushed her hands off, and a few small, flaky pieces of pastry remained stuck to her gloves, despite her best efforts. Kurt had taken his gloves off to eat, and when he saw that she wasn't having any luck trying to remove the crumbs herself, he reached for her hand. One of his hands gently held hers, almost the same way he'd held both of her hands the night he'd first seen her poison ivy – thumb in her palm and the other four behind her hand – except that her palm was facing up and towards him. He picked the crumbs off easily with his other hand, then switched, and did the same for her other hand.

She smiled at him, and even though she looked pleasantly surprised at the contact, her smile dimmed just a little. He figured that even though, in his opinion, he done something that could be considered cute, it had called her attention to her gloves. He looked at her intently, trying to catch her eye, but she glanced around at everything but him. "We'll have to remember this place," he said, at which time she finally did look at him. "We're definitely going to want to come back. Right?"

Her smile turned genuine then. "Of course," she replied. She picked up her coffee again, and took a sip, sighing with a mixture of contentment and frustration.

"Not forever," he said, still watching her intently.

"Let's hope," she replied, nodding.

He put the leftover pieces of pastry back in the back and shook what was left of the crumbs to the ground. Finishing the rest of his coffee in one long drink, he picked up his empty cup and the bag. "You ready to go?" he asked.

As much as it seemed like the perfect spot to stay for hours and hours, that probably wasn't practical. Besides, who knew what else he had up his sleeve.

"Yep," she replied only slightly reluctantly, "ready." They stood up and stretched, and he threw his empty cup into a trash can on the sidewalk. "Where to next?" she asked.

He shrugged, walking backwards in front of her. "Anywhere," he said, and then turned around, looking over his shoulder at her. "Are you coming, or what?" She jogged a few steps to catch up with him, punching him in the arm when she did.

They walked around her neighborhood for several hours, crisscrossing their path over and over. By the time they made it back to her house, she was actually okay with going inside. It was nice to be warm and to sit down, even if it meant shedding her protective outer layers.

They were sitting at the counter, eating leftover donuts. "Do we need to think about real food?" he asked. "We _are_ almost out of donuts…"

"You're talking about what to eat next, _while you're still eating_ …" she said, shaking her head in amazement.

"I just like to be prepared," he told her, as if it made perfect sense.

"I can see why the FBI scooped you right up," she said, nodding, as if it did, indeed, make perfect sense – but her eyes were laughing at him.

"You're not going to answer the question, are you?" he asked her.

She rolled her eyes at him. "What time is it, anyway?" she asked, turning to look at the clock. She was surprised to see that it was almost 4:30. The first hour and a half of the day had gone by agonizingly slowly, but the rest of the day had absolutely flown by. Rolling her eyes, she said, "Fine, I guess it's late enough that we can think about food again… Why, what did you have in mind?"

"I don't know," he said, munching on the last donut in the box. "Indian food?" She shrugged, and he quickly replied, "Haven't tried it yet?"

"Nope," she said, trying to act like it was no big deal. She knew rationally that no one in the world had done or tried _everything,_ and everyone had lots of times where they tried new things… just not nearly as many as she did. It got old after a while.

"Great, another one to check off the list," he said approvingly. "There's a really good place about fifteen minutes from here… we could get take out and bring it back."

"Sure," she said, "But… now?"

"Nah, we can wait a bit. Oh! That reminds me, I have something else that's fun… I left it in the car." With that he jumped up and jogged across the room, opening the door and pulling it closed again behind him. Within thirty seconds she heard the _chirp_ of his car alarm, and he was back, holding what looked like several thin books in his hand. "Do you have a pen or a pencil or something?" he asked. "That's the only thing we need for this."

After digging out a pair of new gloves from her box, Jane rummaged in a drawer until she found a pen, and handed it to him. "Okay, he said, sitting down at one end of the couch, turned so that his back was toward the arm rest at the end, "we can't sit right next to each other for this. I'm gonna ask you for a whole bunch of words that sound really random, and I'll be writing them down on blank lines in the middle of a story… and then at the end I'll read the story, and… okay, sounds really weird, but they're hilarious. I love doing these with Sawyer… or, with anyone, really. You'll see what I mean, okay?"

Jane had sat down toward the other end of the couch, and, because she had a long sleeved shirt on, could rest her elbow carefully against the back at the couch, turned toward him from a few feet away. "Okay," she said slowly, thinking that this sounded like a very, very strange form of entertainment.

"Okay," he said excitedly. "I need an adjective." He wasn't sure if she remembered parts of speech, because after all, there were plenty of adults who _hadn't_ had their memories wiped and didn't know what an adjective was… but before he had to decide whether or not to tell her what an adjective was, she gave him one.

"Fiery." _Like those damn spots in the shower,_ she thought.

He could see that there might be a theme to this game. "Noun?"

"Poison ivy."

"Your favorite one," he said with a grin. "Plural noun?"

"Pieces."

"Plural noun?"

"Spiders."

"Flavor? 

"Swiss chocolate."

"Number?"

"9."

"Plural noun?" 

"Boxes."

"Adjective? 

"Itchy."

"Number?"

"70."

"Plural noun?"

"Rocks."

"Number?"

"Two."

"Plural noun?"

"Sheep."

"Color?"

"Yellow."

"Noun?"

"Grass."

Weller looked up at her, still grinning. "Okay, so this little story had words left out and the words you just gave me filled the blanks in, and it probably won't make any sense whatsoever… but that's the point. Okay?" She nodded, still curious about how it was going to turn out.

"The title is, and I swear I found this one randomly… _The Bakery,_ " he said finally. Looking at her again, he said, "Let's see how it compares to the bakery we found today." She chuckled, and waited.

" _The Bakery_

 _Clerk: Good Day, Miss. What can I do for you?_

 _Customer: I want to buy some_ _ **fiery**_ _bread._ "

Jane smiled, beginning to see what Weller had meant.

" _Clerk: Do you want a loaf of whole grain_ _ **poison ivy**_ _or would you like some buttermilk_ _ **pieces**_ _?"_

"Oh God, what have I done?" Jane asked in mock horror. "Poison ivy bread? I'm itchy just thinking about it…" Weller continued reading with a grin.

" _Customer: Just a regular loaf with sesame_ _ **spiders**_ _on it."_ He chuckled as he watched Jane squirm more and more uncomfortably in her seat.

" _Clerk: All right now, how about some nice_ _ **swiss chocolate**_ _cake?_

 _Customer: Well, I have_ _ **9**_ _children, and they all like to eat sweet_ _ **boxes**_ _. How much are your cookies?_

 _Clerk: We have_ _ **itchy**_ _chip cookies at_ _ **70**_ _dollars a pound. And we have this box of assorted little_ _ **rocks**_ _for only two dollars."_

"Rocks for two dollars? Weller, we could be millionaires if we could get people to buy boxes of rocks for two dollars!" Jane interjected again.

" _Customer: I'll take one. They look like they don't have more than_ _ **2**_ _calories._

 _Clerk: All right. That will be one box of_ _ **sheep**_ _, our special_ _ **yellow**_ _-berry pie, and a big family sized loaf of_ _ **grass**_ _."_

"That clerk wasn't listening to the customer _at all_ ," Jane said in mock disgust. "They didn't order _any_ of those things!" She shook her head, definitely amused. "Okay, is it my turn?" she asked.

"Sure," Weller replied, leaning forward to hand her the pen and the book. Leaning back in front of him she flipped through the book, keeping one of the extra ones that Weller had brought carefully placed so that he couldn't see the title of the one she chose. She was looking forward to this one.

"Okay… type of liquid?"

"Coffee."

"Good choice… another type of liquid?"

"Bourbon."

"Of course. Plural noun?"

"Girls." She raised her eyebrows at him but said nothing, earning her a defensive "What?" from Weller in response.

"Article of clothing?"

"Gloves," he replied, looking at her hands. She looked up and he winked, grinning like a little kid.

"Color?"

"Black."

"Part of the body?"

"Arms."

"Plural noun?"

"Tattoos." She glanced up at him again, and he was looking right at her, just smiling innocently.

"Adjective?"

"Oily."

"Adjective?"

"Quiet."

"Plural noun?"

"Donuts."

"I should have seen _that_ one coming eventually…" she said, shaking her head and chuckling. "Animal?"

"Owl."

"Silly word?"

"Hobbit."

"Adjective?"

"Unruly."

"Adverb?"

"Gently."

"Okay," she said, her smile widening, "I think you're going to like this one…"

It was fun to see her enjoying herself so much, he thought once again.

"Okay, Weller, this one is called 'How to Enjoy Yourself on the Beach.' And since you said you're a beach guy, this may be important information…"

"I'm ready," he said. "Let me have it!"

Jane cleared her throat and began to read. "When you go to the beach, you must take along a big blanket, a thermos bottle full of **coffee** , lots of suntan **bourbon** , and a couple of folding **girls**." She looked up at him inquisitively. "So you're going to drink coffee, cover yourself with bourbon and bring… _folding girls_?" She could barely get the words out, it sounded so ridiculous.

"That's how I've always done it," he said with a completely straight face, winking at her. This only made her laugh harder.

She tried to regain her composure so she could keep reading. "Then you put on your **gloves** so you can get a beautiful shade of **black** to last you all summer." She looked up at him, narrowing her eyes slightly. "That's very… strange. It doesn't make sense at all."

"Sometimes it's funny, sometimes it's just nonsense, and sometimes it's… just strange," he said. "That's the beauty of it."

"You also should have a big hat to keep the sun off your **horribly blistered arms**."

"Um, that's not what I said. I just said _arms_ ," he pointed out indignantly.

"Isn't it? I swore that was what you said…" she said as if she hadn't added the extra description herself and he might somehow believe her if she just looked innocent enough. He shook his head at her.

"I don't even notice anymore. And not just because you put long sleeves on today," he told her.

 _He's just not even a real person sometimes,_ she thought. _He's simply too sweet._

She looked back at him for a second as he looked at her expectantly, and then she continued. "If you want exercise, you can find some **tattoos** to play volleyball with."

"That almost makes sense!" he said, somewhere between defensively and excitedly. "I hear that people with tattoos are awesome volleyball players." He tried to hide a smile, but it didn't work.

"I wouldn't know," she replied. "Maybe it's just one of my hidden talents. And if tattoos equal volleyball talent, then I'm going to seriously _kick ass_."

"Keep going," he said, "I want to know more about enjoying the beach."

Jane appeared to blush just a little, and then read, in a voice slightly choked with laughter, "Volleyball is America's favorite **oily** game."

"What were you saying about hidden talents?" he asked mischievously. She punched him in the leg for good measure.

"Stop it! Let me go on… You can also bring a **quiet** lunch, such as hard-boiled **donuts** ,"

"Now _that_ sounds like an awesome lunch!" he exclaimed.

"…a few **owl** sandwiches with mustard," she continued, undeterred by his interruption.

"Oh, that sounds… less awesome. I'll stick with donuts. More owl sandwiches for you."

"…and some bottles of **Hobbit** cola. If you remember all of the above and get a place near an **unruly** lifeguard…"

"The best kind of lifeguard. _Way_ more fun that the ones who actually pay attention." He then launched into some sort of imitation that she could only imagine was somehow supposed to personify unruly lifeguards. " _Yeah, dude, I know, the waves were totally gnarly out there…"_

"Weller, even _I_ know that's supposed to be a surfer, not a lifeguard," she told him, trying not to laugh.

"What can I say? My talents do not lie in doing impersonations…" he said unapologetically.

"Anyway," she said loudly, "If you remember all of the above and get a place near an **unruly** lifeguard, you can sunbathe **gently** all day." She looked up him, grinning. "So, have you been doing it all wrong all this time?"

"Absolutely! My main failures seem to be coffee, bourbon and hard boiled donuts," he replied, "Or at least, those were the ones that stuck out to me. I should be ashamed of myself."

"Ready to have it back?" she asked him, holding out the pad and pen.

"Sure." He took it with a smile, glad that this had gone as he'd hoped. He couldn't remember meeting anyone who said they _disliked_ mad libs. "Okay… another liquid?"

"Water."

"Noun?"

"Yearbook." 

He smiled, glad they had left their desired impression. "Noun?"

"Squirrel."

"Part of the body? 

"Eye." He looked up at her and winked dramatically, then continued.

"Part of the body?"

"Nose."

"Adjective?"

"Sticky."

"Sport?"

"Baseball."

Again, he smiled. "Adjective?"

"Hairy."

"Adjective?"

"Dark."

"Plural noun?"

"Pancakes."

"Plural noun?"

"Papers."

"Adjective?"

"Pus-filled." He crinkled his nose and shook his head, but wrote it down.

"Very… descriptive," he said slowly. "Country?"

"China."

"Picking one where you speak the language doesn't give you an advantage, you know…" His smile told her that he was teasing her.

"Awww, don't be sad, Weller, we can't _all_ speak Chinese… you have other skills…" She replied in an exaggeratedly kind voice, which made him try to hold back a chuckle.

"Plural noun?"

"Pancakes."

"Noun?"

"Friend."

"Noun?" 

"Medicine."

He looked up at her, watching the thought occur to her. "And no, I didn't forget to remind you earlier. You have fewer to take today, since the pack is almost gone."

"Well, I'll take your word for it. You're on top of these things," she said confidently

"Finally, a little recognition around here…" he said, pretending to need to hear her praise. He grinned, then continued. "We're almost done. Last one, actually. Exclamation?"

"Hmmm…" she said, tilting her head and looking at the ceiling to think.

"Anything you might yell out if something happened suddenly…"

She smiled, obviously thinking of a situation and an answer that came to mind. "FUCK!" she yelled. For a second he just stared at her, wide-eyed. He'd never heard that one from her before – from himself many times, yes, but not Jane. Shaking his head and smiling, he wrote it down.

"Okay, here we go. It's called 'A Quiz to Take Before Leaving Home.' This is the Vacation Mad Libs book, so they mean before you leave on a trip. Ready?"

"Just read it!" she told him excitedly.

"Okay. 1. Have you filled your car with **water**?"

"Let's hope not, or there won't be a road trip," she said.

He smiled and continued reading. "2. Do you have the reservations for your room at the **Yearbook**?"

"Interesting sounding name for a place… very… nostalgic," she thought out loud. "I wonder if they have old pictures everywhere… especially from your ninth and tenth grad yearbooks." Her smile of amusement was infectious, even as he narrowed his eyes at her playfully for bringing up the most awkward of the years.

"3. Are you taking your pet **squirrel** in the car? If so, do you have plenty of **Squirrel** Chow for him?"

"You're probably fine to leave the pet squirrel at home, I'd think… they're pretty independent, aren't they?" she asked. "Can you just leave them outside with a bunch of nuts?

"Stop being so logical! We're bringing the squirrel on our trip!" he insisted quickly. She thought it was interesting that he had referred to _our trip_ , but said nothing. "4. Did you remember to pack all of your toiletries, such as your **eye** brush and your **nose** paste and your **sticky** lotion?" He crinkled his nose slightly, picturing the application of these products. "You women and your mysterious toiletries."

"Geez, I don't have _any_ of those things," she observed. "Obviously I'm doing it all wrong…"

He nodded at her sadly. "I'm afraid so… 5. Did you bring your tennis balls, your **baseball** racket and those **hairy** athletic shoes?"

"No! I knew I was forgetting something. I'll be sure to pack those," she replied quickly.

"6. Have you got a map that shows all of the **dark** roads and the places that serve **papers** and have nice, clean," he paused for dramatic effect, and then pronounced the last few words slowly, drawing them out, " **pus-filled** rooms?" He watched her squirm as she imagined a pus-filled room, her face contorting with disgust. "Hey, you chose the words on this one," he reminded her. "That's what happens…" When she seemed settled again, he continued. "Okay, 7. Did you remember to bring your **Chinese** traveler's checks and plenty of money in small **pancakes**?"

"But… what if you _eat_ them?" she asked with obvious concern. "Pancakes are hard to resist…"

"8. Did you remember to turn off the **friend** and the **medicine** in the house?" He paused, then said, "If you left your friend in your house while you went on this very… exciting… trip, they're probably already turned off, so that's fine." She rolled her eyes at him with a smile.

"If you answered **FUCK!** to these questions, you can leave at once," he concluded with a grin.

"I think if you answered 'FUCK!' to any of those questions, it means you're _not_ prepared to go… I mean, isn't that what you'd say if you realized you'd forgotten something on your list?" she asked seriously.

"Quite possibly, yes," he replied, just as seriously. "But there's no arguing with mad libs… Those are the rules of what to do before leaving home!" He shook his head seriously. "We'll have to remember this for future knowledge. In case they send us somewhere on a case or something."

"You never know when something like that will come in handy," she agreed seriously.

"So, are you getting hungry?" he asked, changing the subject back to food once again.

"A little," she replied, shaking her head. " _You_ obviously are…"

He smiled and nodded innocently. "I could eat," he said.

She shook her head at him, standing up to get her jacket from the closet by the door. "Well then? Maybe by the time we get back with the food, I'll be hungry." She traded in her latex gloves for the cloth ones in her jacket pockets, already feeling better.

Getting up off the couch, he followed her to the door. "You're such a good sport," he told her with a smile.

She looked at him in surprise. " _I'm_ a good sport?" she asked in surprise. "Aren't you the one who has camped out here for the past five days just because you're such a nice guy?"

"So you think I'm a nice guy?" he asked with a grin, opening the door for her.

"Shut up," she told him in mock irritation, punching him in the arm again.

"You're very violent today," he told her, pretending to be serious again. And then added, "Just take the compliment, Jane."

"Fine," she mumbled as she locked the door behind them.

"You're a good sport. A lot of things have been done to you in a short amount of time and you keep rolling with it. And all the while, you try to help other people. And now, presently, you're helping me not starve to death."

By now they were standing on either side of his SUV, talking across the windshield. "I doubt you're in danger of starving to death," she assured him.

He gave her a look that said ' _That's not the point_ ,' and she rolled her eyes with a smile as they climbed into the car.

"So do you already know what you're going to order?" she asked him, in an attempt to change the subject.

"Yep," he replied. "Butter chicken, Sali Boti, and my favorite part, Na'an bread." He looked happy just talking about it.

Forty-eight minutes later, they were back with the food, and Jane _was_ actually starting to get hungry. She'd been holding it on her lap for the past fifteen minutes, and it smelled _amazing_.

They shed their jackets and he took the food to the counter, got plates from the kitchen and began dishing out some of each on each plate, a smaller portion on hers for her to try both dishes first. Yet again, dinner was a great success. She thought fleetingly that it would be hard to go back to eating stale left over take out by herself once the poison ivy was finally gone.

"That was _so_ good," she said not too long afterwards. "I can't eat another bite, even though I want to."

"You sure at that _fast_ , especially for someone who wasn't that hungry," he observed with a smile.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah…" she said, getting up to take her plate into the kitchen, where she rinsed the last of the fragrant sauce into the sink.

"Hey! You and your pus get out of that kitchen!" he called as she eyed the dishwasher. She put her fork and plate down on the counter and walked out, almost running into him as he made his way around the corner to go in with his.

"Done eating already?" she asked sarcastically.

"I had bigger portions than you did," he reminded her. "And yes, I needed to stop as well."

Walking back around to where they'd been sitting, she asked, "Am I allowed to close the take out containers, or should I not touch them?"

"Yep, close them up and hand them to me," he replied.

"Bossy," she said, her eyes twinkling. She didn't move.

" _Please,"_ he added. With a smile, she closed the take out containers and handed them to him through the wall cut out to put in the refrigerator.

"And the trash over here?" she called.

"Yes, you're allowed," he replied without looking up from where he was putting the dishes from the dishwasher away.

"Finally, something I'm allowed to do," she grumbled in mock annoyance, collecting the trash and quickly ducking around the corner to put it in the trash can.

"You know, a lot of people would love to have someone come over and kick them out of the kitchen, do all of their dishes… people usually _like_ that," he informed her.

"Is someone feeling under-appreciated again?" she asked, sitting back the stool to talk to him while he worked. "Because you know you're _very_ appreciated."

He blushed the slightest bit, grinning slightly, "Nope, not at all what I was saying."

 _LIAR,_ she thought.

"What do you say we give the puzzle another shot?" he asked. "It may be a little ambitious for just one of us, but I think the two of us could take it."

"Sure," she shrugged, pulling new gloves out of the box on the counter and walking over. They found spots at opposite ends of the puzzle and were just getting into a good rhythm when suddenly there was a bang in the distance, and the lights went out.

"What the hell?" Weller mumbled under his breath. The sun had set and there was only a hint of light left in the distance to the west. It was a clear night, luckily, so moonlight filtered in through the windows overlooking the street. He walked over to the windows and looked out, glancing to the right and left. The traffic lights at each end of the block were out, and Jane's detail had just gotten out of their car to check things out.

"You have a flashlight or two?" he asked.

"Yeah, there's one here _somewhere,_ " she said, using the light on her phone, shining it up into the top shelf of the closet by the front door. She pulled a basket of miscellaneous small objects from the shelf and rummaged through it, finally finding one large flashlight and replacing the basket on the shelf. "Sorry, only one," she told him with a shrug.

"That's fine, keep it, I have one in the car." He was already at the door, and stalled with his hand on the doorknob. "I'm gonna get the flashlight, and check things out with the guys outside. Stay here for a second." He knew the chances that she would actually listen and stay put were slim, it just seemed like the smart thing. Really, he preferred not to have her out of his sight until he was sure what was going on – especially after what had happened at her first safe house – but he couldn't be in both places at once. He reminded himself that she wasn't exactly helpless… and that would have to be enough for the time being.

She sighed as he went outside, and walked to the window to see him pull a smallish but powerful flashlight out of his glove compartment, then stand with the two guys who were on her detail that night in the middle of the sidewalk. They looked up and down the block and gestured as they talked. It was silly, really, that she needed to stay inside… but she got it, as much as the protectiveness could be annoying. Never mind that she'd be more help if she could _do something_ , which she felt like she'd proven that she was perfectly capable of being useful. Finally, the two guys in her detail walked in opposite directions down the sidewalk, and Weller came back in the front door.

"Everything seems quiet, and the power's out for at least a few blocks, not just here…" he said. The guys are gonna check all the way around the perimeter, to be sure." She nodded, not feeling overly concerned. "Has the power gone out like that here before since you've lived here? I haven't heard of any other times."

She shook her head. "Never. Not even during a storm."

He shrugged. "Well, it happens. There are some places where the power goes out often, and sometimes for what seems like little or no reason. Not usually in cities, but you just never know…" He seemed to be slightly on edge, and he walked back to the window, peering out into the darkness.

"I guess the puzzle won't be happening _again_ tonight…" she said with a shrug. _Just when we were getting started._

"Hey, I have an idea," he said suddenly. "Get your jacket."

She smiled broadly, wondering what he had in mind. These past few days, anything that required her to put on a jacket had been a lot of fun. It was dark, and so a little colder, and they fastened their jackets and put on their gloves, pulling everything on a little tighter against the chilly night air as they stepped outside. He walked out onto the sidewalk and saw that Jane's detail had made it back to the front. "Sir," one of the men said, "everything looks good on the perimeter. No signs of anything unusual. I called in and apparently the blackout is more widespread than just a few blocks… there's a stretch of a few _miles_ that's actually dark. Multiple generator fire, or failure, or… something like that, they think. I'm sure they'll have it under control soon."

Weller nodded, and the two men retreated back to their car, satisfied that the coast was clear. Jane had walked over to where they were standing, and was peering around with interest at the darkened neighborhood. It looked different without the street lights. Weller glanced up into the sky, and was greeted by exactly what he'd hoped he'd see on a night when the power was out in part of New York City.

 _Stars._

Sure, it wasn't as many as he would've seen back in his – _their –_ childhood hometown in Pennsylvania, where they could be far away from big cities and all the lights they produced, but for New York City, it was a good view of the stars. You had to look to pick them out, but they were there. Jane followed his gaze to the sky. "Oh, _wow,"_ she immediately exhaled in wonder. He looked at her with a mixture of pity and happiness. Try as he might, as he had for the months that he'd known her, he couldn't begin to imagine not being able to remember his life. Tortured as his childhood had been, it was simple things like this, like looking up at the stars at night, that he – and everyone else, he realized – took for granted.

"The view's not that great from here, since we're in the city. New York is never really dark, except at times like this, when the power goes out and there's no choice. They have so many back-up systems, it's pretty rare that it happens for more than a few minutes at a time… something big must have happened to have knocked the power out in such a big section of the city."

She heard him, but she couldn't take her eyes off the sky. "It's… amazing," she whispered. He walked up beside her and smiled as she continued to crane her neck upward.

"The best place to see the stars is from the middle of nowhere," he said softly, remembering. "As a kid, if I was up late enough, staring up at the sky was just… mesmerizing. From out there, nowhere near a city, you could see so many stars, you wouldn't have been able to count them if you tried." He paused, then added quietly, "You used to try though."

"I did?" she asked, turning to look at him for the first time since she'd looked up.

He nodded, remembering a night that he hadn't thought of for a long time. "Your mom was working late, so you were hanging out with me. It was a winter night, and you were five. You'd been learning about the stars at school, I think. Or someone had been telling you about them. I'm not sure. But you desperately wanted to see them. So we stayed up late, and got all bundled up and sat outside in my backyard and actually laid down on a blanket on the ground and just stared at them." He spoke slowly. He hadn't let himself remember that night in a long time.

He'd looked back up at the sky while he'd been talking, and found that it was easier than looking at her as he'd thought back to that particular memory. Now he looked back down at her and smiled, or tried to, but the sadness was still there, even in the moonlight.

"I'm sorry," he said simply, not specifying what for. She knew anyway, and she also knew that it wasn't in any way his fault.

"Don't be," she said, shaking her head and looking back up at the stars. "I'm here now." Glancing back at him, she took a step closer and leaned her head gently against his shoulder, tilting her head back slightly to look back up at the stars once more. She was sure that she could stay there, in that exact spot, all night.

He, in turn, looked down at her in surprise, as she suddenly leaned against him, and then slowly put his arm around her shoulder, tugging her closer while looking back up at the stars as well. For years, the sight had made him sad, and it was difficult to erase the empty feeling that a sky full of stars gave him, despite their beauty. …Even now, and even with her there.

They stood there on the sidewalk, not moving and just looking up, for nearly thirty minutes, at which time the block suddenly seemed hummed to life again, as the streetlights came back on and the stars were once again suddenly obscured. She sighed, sorry to see the sight disappear, and lowered her gaze, pressing her cheek into the side of his jacket. She didn't want to move, but it had become necessary.

Even though the sight had been bittersweet, still, he was disappointed when the lights came back on and suddenly, it was as though they were back in the real world. It was almost as though, for that short time, they'd traveled back in time. The scene wasn't exactly the same as the one he'd described to her from their childhood, of course, but the feeling it evoked was the same. _But the present is even better,_ he reminded himself, not wanting to drop the arm that was around her shoulder, but slowly doing it anyway.

They took a step apart and stretched, realizing that it gotten late somewhere along the way. "It's already almost 9:30," he said, glancing at his watch. "Times flies."

"Yeah," she agreed with a yawn.

"Come on, time for some medicine, and then sleep."

She tilted her head and looked at him, and he knew what she was going to say. "Bossy."

"You need to be all rested up for the new stuff that they're gonna prescribe tomorrow, that will be probably be so strong it'll kick your ass," he said hopefully.

"As long as it kicks out the poison ivy, I don't care," she insisted, walking slowly toward the door. It had been a very, very long six days. And yet, looking back, there were lots of bright points as well. Like the one that had just happened.

Inside, she shed her jacket yet again, hanging it on its hook while Weller continued on to the kitchen. By the time she'd followed him over there, he was holding the second to last of the small white pills and a glass of water. She took them without a word, handing the glass back to him since once again, he was blocking her from going into the kitchen. He turned around in turn and walked into the kitchen to put the glass on the counter, then opened the dishwasher and put the last few remaining dishes in before adding soap and pressing the ON button.

"You're so much more domestic that I would have thought," she told him, smiling as she leaned against the door frame of the kitchen. She had to admit that she _was_ getting sleepy.

He just chuckled, shrugging. "Don't tell anyone," he whispered, as if it was a big secret.

She rolled her eyes and smiled, backing out of the doorway as they both walked back to the living room. "Get some sleep," he told her. "Your appointment is at 8:30 am."

"You already made me an appointment? How? And… why?" Then, not wanting to sound ungrateful, she added, "I mean, _thanks._ "

Chuckling at her confusion, he shrugged it off. "I knew you wanted to get in and get it over with," he said. "And… I know people."

"Very mysterious," she replied, yawning again as she followed him to the door.

"Good night," he said, stepping outside and looking pretty tired himself. "I'll see you around eight tomorrow." She nodded, smiling. They stood and looked at each other for a few seconds, not moving.

"Good night… and thank you. _Again_ ," she replied. With that, he nodded slightly, then turned and walked to his car. Before he climbed in, however, he stopped and said, "Get inside that door and lock up, so I don't have to call your detail and make sure you did it after I leave."

"Bossy," she called, sticking her tongue out at him, but did as he asked.

As she walked up the stairs, tired and achy, she couldn't help hoping that tomorrow would be the day when she started feeling better. It was almost hard to remember _not_ being uncomfortable from those damn blisters. They didn't itch much anymore, and they had pretty much stopped dripping, but… well, it was safe to say that she'd go out of her way to avoid getting poison ivy again anytime soon.

Her last thought, as she fell asleep, was of looking up at the stars and of Weller's arm around her shoulder. Even poison ivy couldn't ruin that memory.


	6. Day 6 (Medicine and a Martian)

**Disclaimer: I do not own Jane or Kurt or Blindspot. Writing about them is simply the outlet for my obsession. And yet again today, my itchiness, and my very, very slowly disappearing poison ivy scars, as well.**

 _A/N: Once again today, Weller has some fun in store for Jane. I never expected this story to go so long… then again, I never expected to have poison ivy this long_ _ **myself**_ _either. Also, if you have not seen the movie The Martian (which came out in fall 2015 so really you've had time), well then **Spoiler Alert** (But no Blindspot spoilers, since this story comes from my imagination)._

As promised, the next morning Weller was there at 8:00 am. Actually, when he knocked on Jane's door it was 7:58 am. After dutifully checking the peephole, she opened the door to find him standing there with a smile on his face that told her he was definitely up to something.

"Ready to go?" he asked, bouncing on his heels slightly.

"Yeah," she said suspiciously, let me just get my jacket…" She looked at him out of the corner of her eye as she turned to where her jacket was hanging nearby. "You're early," she observed.

"Trying to atone for being late," he replied innocently.

Once she'd fastened her jacket and put on her gloves, they stepped outside and she locked her door. The whole way to the car, Weller looked like the kid who was doing his very best to keep a secret. She looked at him suspiciously, but said nothing. When she climbed into the passenger seat, however, she found the source of his excitement. He'd stopped by the bakery they'd discovered the day before and bought coffee and, she saw after inspection of a large, white bag, croissants.

Sure that her face had already betrayed her excitement, she looked up at him in awe, already sipping her coffee. This only made her smile more broadly. "Wow, a chauffeur who brings the world's best pastries and coffee? You're _hired_ ," she told him dramatically, trying to bite off a piece of croissant carefully, so it wouldn't disintegrate into crumbs all over her lap. "Oh!" she exclaimed. "What's on this one? They're nuts or something? But they're sweet…"

"Almonds," he replied. "Croissants are good plain, but also really good with almonds. Or chocolate, and that bakery had all three." She looked back inside the bag to see that indeed, there were quite a few croissants in there, several in each flavor.

Finishing the bite she'd been chewing as he pulled out into traffic, she looked at him seriously for a second, even though she knew he couldn't take his eyes off the road for more than a second or two. "You know this is all too much, right? We're going on a week now…" She only realized how the last part sounded after it was out of her mouth. As if something was actually _going on_ between them, and not just that they'd been spending all of their time together. _Because… there isn't. Anything going on, that is…_ she thought.

He didn't make a face or seem to react to her choice of words, so she plunged ahead. "Mayfair's _never_ gonna let you take time off again! And everything you've done for me…" She shook her head, at a loss for what else to say.

He smiled slowly in amusement as he looked ahead at the road, and then asked, "So, are you saying you want me to stop?" For just a second he glanced over at her, and she could see the laughter in his eyes.

She punched him gently in the arm. "Of _course_ not, I just… I'm overwhelmed."

He shrugged it off, as if nothing he'd done had been a big deal. "It's what friends do."

Narrowing her eyes at him, she thought about that for a second. "I've been watching people for a few months now… and I know that what you do is not what _all_ friends do."

"Maybe the people you're watching just aren't very good friends," he replied matter-of-factly. "Of course, some friends are better than others. Some people just try harder." She watched him for a second, considering it. He did seem to have a point.

After a pause, he continued. "Sometimes, when you've been through something difficult, it makes you treat the people around you better, because you appreciate them more."

She couldn't help but smile at that. "Fair enough," she said quietly. "I think that's a good thing."

He nodded in agreement, eyes forward. "As far as people in general go…" he began, "well, they don't always show their best sides to the world."

"Well that's a nice way to put it," she replied. While she had grown accustomed to the stares that accompanied having a body covered in tattoos, it had been a rough adjustment. People could be downright rude.

He shrugged. "Some people are just better _people_ than others. Just generally better human beings. We get to see a _lot_ of the bad ones in this job. There's nothing you can do about those people. You just have to feel sorry for them, I guess. It's their loss, not yours. That happens to everyone though, at one time or another… just some more than others."

Looking over at him and shaking her head, she said, "Which only brings me back to this," she told him, holding up her coffee cup.

"Your coffee?" he asked innocently.

" _Stop_ ," she protested. "You're just a nice guy, Weller. Admit it."

He sighed heavily, as if she'd just found out his darkest secret. "Let's not let that get out," he told her in a whisper.

"Your secret is safe with me," she promised.

They arrived at the FBI building with ten minutes to spare before her appointment, but by the time they had parked and navigated security and the hallways inside the building, they were right on time. Weller took a seat in the waiting area outside the FBI clinic, leafing through magazines while Jane was ushered back into a small exam room. Thankfully, she didn't have long to wait before Dr. Jenner, a dark-haired man in his forties and the same doctor that Jane had seen the previous week, knocked softly on the door and then entered.

He shook her hand and smiled. "Nice to see you again, Jane," he said in a friendly tone. "So I hear that the drugs you've been on have _not_ solved the problem with your poison ivy."

She shook her head at him. "Not even _close_ ," she lamented. "It's gotten maybe… a little bit better since the _worst day…_ but it's pretty bad." She removed her jacket slowly to reveal the giant sores on her arms that the clusters of blisters had slowly been morphing into over the past few days. There was one exceptionally large patch on her left wrist, as well as several other medium sized ones, the highest of which was a few inches past her elbow. On her right arm was a nearly identical large cluster on her wrist, as well as another large one just past her elbow, on the inside of her arm, along with, again, several others in various sizes.

Jane looked at the doctor, gritting her teeth as she watched his surprised reaction. "Oh, _wow_ ," he said. "Those have gotten pretty serious since the last time you were here." She just nodded in agreement. _You're telling me_ , she thought.

"And they were worse a few days ago. At least _most_ of them have stopped dripping pus by now," she said. She was just _so tired_ of pus!

The doctor nodded, making notes in her file. "There are a few small ones on my right leg, but there's four large ones on my left leg. Two underneath my knee and two on the side." She lifted her pant leg to reveal blisters similar, though not identical, to the most serious ones on her wrists. "It has also spread to my stomach." She lifted her shirt to reveal several large blotchy clusters of deep red, though no blisters. "Those are _very_ itchy. And on my back..." She then turned so the red splotches on both sides of her back were visible. "And on my neck..." She moved the neckline of her shirt out of the way to show a large red patch off to one side of the base of her neck. "And on my face..." She pointed to her cheek and the left side of her nose. "Oh, and a few on my right hand, and a few on those fingers." She held up her left hand so he could see the two fingers that each had two band aids wrapped around them.

"Well, you don't have to convince me. We're certainly going to put you on some more serious steroids," he said. "And I'm going to give you an antibiotic as well, to be sure that those blisters that have already popped don't get infected." Again, she just nodded, trying suppress a grin. This was what she'd been waiting days to hear. "How about those other pills you have to help with the itching? Are those working?" he asked.

"Yes," she said, " _those_ are working great."

"Good," he replied, glancing at her chart. "Are you allergic to any medications that you're aware of?"

"No, _not that I know of_ ," she quantified carefully, as she felt like she was _always_ doing.

"Great, then I'll get these for you and you'll be all set," he told her, writing out two prescription slips. "Now, today's Monday. If you're not seeing a big improvement by Thursday, I'm going to refer you to a colleague of mine who's a dermatologist. They may have a different course of treatment. But let's hope this clears it right up for you."

 _Thursday?_ she thought in horror. _No, please don't let it go that long…_ "Yes, I'm definitely hoping that," she smiled, nodding enthusiastically.

"One more thing," the doctor told her. "The steroid will make your skin very sensitive to the sun, so you should stay out of the sun while you're taking it," he told her.

It was as though everything came to a crashing halt for a second. _Stay inside for a WEEK_ , she repeated to herself, feeling the walls close in slightly around her. _It's okay,_ she told herself. _You've survived this long…_ and then, hearing Weller's voice in her head, she heard _him_ telling her, ' _It's not forever, Jane.'_

 _It just feels like it_ , she lamented, but forced herself to recover.

Smiling at the doctor, she said, "Thank you so much. You don't know how badly I want this all _gone._ I promise never to touch another leafy plant again."

Dr. Jenner chuckled. "Yes, I'd say yours is one of the more severe reactions that I've seen," he admitted. "But some people just have a higher sensitivity to some things that others do." He shrugged, then reached to shake her hand. "It was nice to see you again," he told her. "I'll hope not to see you in here again _too soon_."

"Thanks, uh, yeah, me too," she replied, standing up and reaching for her jacket, then heading back out of the small room towards the reception area.

Weller stood up when she approached. "All set?" he asked.

She held up the two small papers that held her new prescriptions. "I have what I came for," she replied. "Or at least, the slips that _get_ me what I came for."

"Good," he said. "You can fill those right down the hall here. One of the perks of working for the FBI," he observed.

"So let's go already!" she said impatiently. "The sooner I get these drugs in me, the better."

Fifteen minutes later, two bottles of pills in hand, Weller and Jane peeked into Mayfair's office. She was at her desk, head down, examining a file on her desk that seemed to deeply concern her. Weller knocked his knuckles against the open door to get her attention, and her head snapped up quickly. By the time her eyes were on them, the file in front of her was also closed. Jane couldn't help but notice that she looked more than a little startled by their surprise arrival.

"Agent Weller, _Jane_ …" Mayfair began. Jane couldn't help but wonder if she'd said her name in a different, less than friendly tone than the woman had used for 'Agent Weller,' or if she was just imagining it.

"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you," Weller told her. "We were in the building so Jane could see Dr. Jenner again, so we're just passing through."

Jane got the sense that her presence there wasn't exactly welcome, but she smiled at Mayfair anyway, hoping it would help the suddenly frosty atmosphere. Mayfair had been kind enough to her – no, _kind_ would be too strong a word. She had been civil enough, but Jane wouldn't go so far as to say that she'd been _kind_ or _friendly_ … and she certainly hadn't been excited about Jane going into the field with Weller and his team, though she had allowed it. Jane couldn't quite figure out _what_ Mayfair's opinion of her was. "Sorry to hear you're not feeling better," she nodded at Jane seriously.

"Thanks. I'd show you how bad its gotten, but I don't think you really want to see it…" Jane said nervously. "It's pretty bad…"

She looked up at Kurt when she felt him shifting beside her, to see that he was shaking his head emphatically.

Mayfair's eyes shifted without a change in expression to Weller, despite his attempt at humor, before falling back on Jane. "I'll take Agent Weller's word for it," she said evenly, her face stony and unreadable. _Tough crowd,_ Jane thought.

"I'm sorry about being out so long, and about Agent Weller being out so long…" Jane stammered, feeling as though she should apologize.

"It happens," Mayfair said, her face softening just a little, but still not smiling. "Sometimes it's a gunshot that sidelines you in our line of work, so all things considered, poison ivy is preferable. And you _did_ get it on the job…" Jane smiled unsurely, having all but forgotten that she _had_ contracted poison ivy while chasing down a suspect with Weller's team in the first place. As far as the rest of Mayfair's statement… she didn't even want to try to imagine what it felt like to be shot. Surely it was worse than poison ivy, and yet… the past week had felt pretty difficult to her.

"Anything I should be aware of?" Weller asked, clearly ready to be out the door.

"Not today," Mayfair said. "Did Dr. Jenner have any expectations for this treatment?" Weller turned to look at Jane for an answer.

"Well," Jane replied, feeling the weight of the two sets of eyes on her, and trying to think back to her conversation with the doctor. "He thought I'd see a big improvement in the next few days. He couldn't say exactly how long it would take for it to all go away, though."

Mayfair nodded, looking as though she'd expected as much. "Keep me posted," she said, looking at Weller.

"I will," he said, adding, "Thanks," and then the pair was stepping back out into the hall. When they'd gotten out of earshot of Mayfair's office, Jane said, "I don't get the feeling that she likes me very much."

Weller shook his head. "I'm sure it's not that. She has a really stressful job, and your case has brought all kind of new things to light. She has a lot to deal with… but I've worked with her for a long time. She's one of the few people I trust."

Jane just nodded. She'd just have to take his word for it. The two walked to Patterson's lab, where Reade and Zapata were just about to walk back out into the hallway. "Hey, Weller. Hey, Jane," Zapata said casually, causing Patterson, who'd gone back to staring at a screen at the other side of the lab, to run over to join them.

"How are you?" Patterson asked Jane kindly. "Any better?" Jane shook her head, wishing that she had better news after being quarantined – and more importantly, after causing Weller to be out of the office as well – for what felt like so long already.

"Worse than when I first saw the doctor, a little better than a few days ago, but still pretty bad," she summarized. "They just prescribed me the heavy duty stuff. Apparently I have a _very_ severe reaction to poison ivy."

The others nodded sympathetically, though Reade had a skeptical look on his face, as if he was about to say something. He was already looking directly at Weller, waiting for a break in the conversation. Jane stepped forward toward Patterson and Zapata, knowing that Reade was ignoring her. "Trust me, even as a _scientist_ ," she directed that part at Patterson, "you don't want to see it." Behind her, Weller was once again shaking his head emphatically.

Zapata looked at Weller and smiled at what was clearly his attempt at humor. "Weller, aren't you supposed to be playing supportive friend back there?" she teased him, then looked back at Jane. "I'm sure it's not as bad as you think, but I'm okay with taking your word for it."

"I just hope you get some _relief_ , and soon," Patterson added. "Sounds like the past week has been no fun at all."

"She has had _a little_ bit of fun, thank you," Weller interjected from behind her, pretending to be affronted at the attack on his skills as a companion.

Jane smiled but didn't turn around to look at him. "I haven't been a happy camper, but it could have been a _lot_ worse. I've been lucky to have company."

" _Excellent_ company, she means," Weller added loudly, again pretending to be offended.

Jane smiled again and rolled her eyes, then turned around and shook her head at him. He had a serious look on his face, but it was obvious that he was kidding.

That was when Reade saw his chance. "So, Weller, are we going to see you back here tomorrow?" he asked, ignoring Jane standing a few feet away. "There's a _lot_ to catch up on…"

"I don't think so," Weller said evenly, completely ignoring Reade's less than subtle hint: _You've done enough for Jane_. "Maybe by the end of the week. I'll keep you guys informed."

"Jane, I hope you start to feel better," Zapata told her sincerely.

"Hopefully you'll be back in here with us soon," Patterson said. "It's no fun to be stuck at home for that long."

"I'm standing right _here_ ," Weller announced loudly, clearly wanting some attention for himself.

Zapata rolled her eyes. "You are the biggest baby, Weller," she told him with a smile. "We all know you're taking good care of her. _Of course you are._ And yes, we miss you. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

"That was nice of you to say, Agent Zapata," Weller replied, pretending to be mollified by her comments, joking though they were.

"See you later, you too," Patterson said.

"Bye," Jane said self-consciously, following Weller, who had simply nodded at them all and walked out into the hall.

Again, they walked a short distance toward the elevator before Jane turned to him with a confused smile, and asked, "What was _that_ , exactly?"

"What?" Weller asked innocently. "Haven't we been having fun?" He stopped walking and crinkled his eyes in mock confusion.

"I thought you didn't want everyone to know that you were a _nice guy."_ She dropped her voice to a whisper on the last two words so that no one would hear her.

"You're right, I guess the secret's out…" he said, shaking his head sadly.

Chuckling, she suddenly remembered something.

"Oh, before I forget – I don't think I told you this, but with the medicine that I need to take," she held up her bag, "with food – preferably _soon_ – I'm supposed to stay out of the sun. It apparently makes my skin very sensitive."

"Oh, well it's a good thing you mentioned that before we went back outside," he said. It looked as though something suddenly occurred to him then. "Wait right there. I'll be back in a second." With that, he sprinted down the hall and around the corner, leaving Jane wondering what in the world he was doing. Less than two minutes later he was back, looking as though this was perfectly normal behavior, and offering no further explanation.

"So, I was thinking, as something to do that doesn't involve going outside – well, except walking from the car to the building, anyway – that if you want, since we're already downtown, we could go see a movie. There's one out that I wanted to see but haven't had time, and I think you might like it. It's called The Marian. It's about an astronaut who gets stranded on Mars."

Jane, of course, knew nothing about movies except that the two she had watched with Weller so far. She'd liked those two, so why not? There was nowhere else she had to be, after all. "Sure," she shrugged. "I can't infect anyone with everything covered up… Sounds good. We need to get some food, though, so I can take these pills. I have 60mg of Prednisone with my name on it – well, with my name on the _bottle_ , anyway," she said, smiling at her own joke.

"I happen to know that there is food to be had between here and there, including _at_ the movie theater itself." Then, to clarify, he added, "If you're okay with hot dogs and nachos and that kind of thing."

"Do they meet with your approval?" she asked him seriously.

"Yes they do," he replied, now starting to feel hungry even though it wasn't quite 11:00 am, just from talking about food.

"Then fine, let's do it," Jane said, walking the last few steps toward the elevator and pushing the button.

Back at the car, Weller used his phone to look up movie times, and found a showing that started in about an hour. It took them twenty minutes to get there in traffic, leaving plenty of time to find parking, get tickets – which Jane nearly had to put him in a headlock to get him to let her pay for – and food. When Jane handed the cashier her money for the food at the snack counter, she just looked at Weller as if to say _Don't even think about it_. He said nothing, just looked at her innocently. As they stood aside and waited for their food to be ready, however, Weller leaned down, probably closer than was wise to her cheek, which did have a spot of poison ivy on it, so that he could say quietly into her ear, " _Bossy._ "

He stood back up like nothing had happened, and when she looked up at him in surprise, only his eyes gave away a hint of a smile. _He has a damn good poker face_ , she thought. _But his eyes give it all away._ Food and drinks finally in hand, they found their theater and they had their pick of seats – it being a Monday at lunch time, not the prime movie time for most people.

Jane ate even faster than Weller did, for once, but she had a good reason: she needed food in her system before she could take her medicine, and she desperately wantedto get those drugs into her system. She had swallowed the last pill of the four, three steroids and an antibiotic, just before the first preview started. Settling into her chair, she wished for some sort of instantaneous results – even though she knew that it wouldn't work that way. It didn't take long, however, before she forgot about her own problems and became engrossed in those of Mark Watney, the astronaut stranded on Mars.

When the lights came on, about two and half hours later, and the music played through the ending credits, Jane sat and stared at the screen. Weller couldn't tell whether she was overwhelmed by the experience of watching the first movie in a theater that she could remember, or if it had been something about the movie in particular that still had her so mesmerized. As people stood up around them and began filing out, she sat and stared ahead. He was pretty sure that she wasn't looking _at_ anything, just… staring.

"Jane, you okay?" he asked. He wasn't sure if he should be worried or not.

"Yeah… I… wow," she replied, still staring forward, unsure exactly what to say.

He tilted his head slightly, smiling only a little and just sat there, looking at her. "You ready to go?"

She finally looked back at him and smiled. "Yeah." There was clearly still something on her mind.

Standing up, he stretched and looked back down at her, still sitting there. Finally realizing that he was waiting for her, she stood up slowly and again, stopped to look at him for a minute.

"You sure you're okay?" he asked her.

"Yeah, that was just… a lot to think about," she admitted.

He nodded. It made sense. After all, from what he'd heard about the movie beforehand, it had seemed as though there'd be certain parallels that she could draw with her own life. She hadn't been stranded on Mars of course, but he supposed that it sometimes felt that way to her, being dumped into a life that was completely foreign to her.

On their way through the theater lobby he stopped for a second, reached inside his jacket and pulled out a black baseball cap with the letters 'FBI' emblazoned on it in yellow. He reached up and put it on her head, carefully smoothing her hair back, tucking it behind her ear first on one side, then the other by sliding his finger along under the edge of the cap, and then making sure it was adjusted properly in the back. She watched him in confusion as he did all this, which made him chuckle.

 _Why is he putting a hat on me?_ she wondered.

"Wow, that movie really did take your mind off of things," he observed, shaking his head. "You're supposed to be staying out of the sun, remember? I'm just trying to help with that so that we can make it back to your place with minimal sun exposure. That's all you need is sunburn, right?"

"You just happen to carry around FBI baseball caps in your jacket?" she asked him curiously.

"No, I grabbed it back at the office. I had it in my desk drawer," he told her with a smile, more than a little pleased with himself for thinking ahead.

She smiled back at him, shaking her head. _Somehow, he thinks of_ _ **everything,**_ she thought.

They walked back to his car side by side, her arms crossed loosely across her chest. It was sunny outside, but chilly. He couldn't help but feel that even though she was physically there with him… she was somewhere else.

It had been a while since he'd seen her that quiet, and he wasn't sure what to make of it, but he figured that she'd talk about it when she was ready.

"That was a great idea," she told him when they'd gotten about halfway back to her safe house. "Just the latest in your string of great ideas, obviously." He didn't turn to look at her, but she could see that he was fighting a grin. He reached out and fiddled with the radio dial as he drove, settling on a song that Jane had, of course, no memory of ever hearing before, but that seemed appropriate for the light mood in the car.

Back at her safe house, after shedding her protective layers, Jane stood in the middle of the room and looked down at her arms, the most easily visible place to see the marks left on her by that stupid poison ivy plant. If she could have willed them away, she would have been doing it just then. _Come on, stupid drugs_ , she thought, _work faster!_ Alas, it seemed that her continued patience would be required, unfortunately.

Weller watched her from the other side of the room and chuckled to himself. "You didn't think they were going to just instantly disappear, did you?" he called.

She looked up at him and smiled, shaking her head. "Of course not," she replied. "That's impossible. I _know_ that." Pausing, she continued, "But did I still kinda hope they would anyway? Absolutely." She sat down on the couch beside the puzzle, still on the coffee table, and he came and sat down as well, near the other end. "I just keep looking at it, waiting to see _some_ kind of progress. But I look at it so often, it's hard to tell if it looks different since last time, you know?"

He chuckled, not at her frustration, of course, just at her in general. "I know," he told her sympathetically.

"And now after that movie, all I can think is, who am I to complain about having poison ivy or being stuck _in my house_? I'm not stuck on _Mars_. I want to tell myself to stop whining."

He nodded thoughtfully. "It puts things in perspective, maybe, but then again, that's fiction. That didn't _actually_ happen."

"It seems only _slightly_ less likely than what has actually happened to me, though," she replied. "And in some ways, it's very similar. Not the poison ivy, just the rest of it. Sometimes it has felt like I was stranded on a strange planet… I mean yes, I have some advantages…"

She turned and slowly laid down on her back on the couch, one arm under her head and resting on the pillow at the end, her knees bent and her feet toward the middle, just short of where he was sitting.

"For example, at least when everything blows up in my face, _I_ still have oxygen…" she mused.

Weller sat back and turned, propping his elbow on the back of the couch and pulled one knee up so that he could sit facing her. "Oxygen is definitely an advantage when it comes to staying alive, yes," he agreed.

"But he just… he managed to survive so many things that should have killed him – running out of air, running out of food, having to perform surgery on himself... not to mention all the crazy scientific things he did… It was like watching Patterson, except even… more, I guess…" They both chuckled, trying to imagine Patterson as the astronaut who had to survive on Mars alone.

"And then dealing with all of it for _so_ long… and by himself…" She shook her head. "When he was watching the storm outside, at the beginning, just sitting there knowing that his team had left him behind…?" Weller nodded, and she continued. "That's what I feel like, in a way. Stranded. Left behind. Except that I don't know where I was before, or who I was with, or why, so I don't know what or who to try to get back to. And I don't ever know if I should _want_ to get back there... You know?"

Weller nodded again, knowing that there really wasn't anything he could say to answer her questions, despite how hard they'd been trying. Her case so far had been a mystery that simply kept unlocking other mysteries, while not getting them any closer to the overall question of who she was and how all of those clues had ended up branded on her.

"You're like him in one way, though," Weller said after a few minutes. She'd been lost in her own thoughts, and she looked back up at him then. "He was determined not to die there, that he would get home. Now, you may or may not be going _back_ to anything or anywhere…" He looked slightly pained at the idea of her 'going back,' she noticed. "But you're just as determined as he was, not to let yourself be beaten. Maybe not by an entire planet, but by a situation that's completely outside of your control – not severe poison ivy, and not the rest of it, either."

"I have something else in common with him," she said ruefully. "Every time I take one step forward, I take three steps back."

 _It does feel that way sometimes_ , he thought. He shook his head.

She tried to smile, but found that it was difficult. "I can't imagine keeping my sanity for more than a year… alone. I couldn't even manage a morning."

"If you had to, I think you could," he told her.

She shook her head, chuckling to herself. "Then I think you have a lot more faith in me than I have in myself," she told him. Again, she was lost in thought for a few minutes before she said, "It just makes you think that… if he can survive on _Mars_ , and for as long as he did, then I can easily get along without a past… Or, I feel like I _should be able to_ … you know?"

"Not forgetting that, once again, Mark Watney is fictional and _you_ are not," he reminded her, "it's always nice when someone or something puts everything else in perspective. And compared to an astronaut who's stuck on Mars, yes, I agree, you have it easy. But it's not a fair comparison. I think compared to an astronaut stuck alone on Mars, I think we _all_ have it easy." She smiled at the point he was making. _Don't be so hard on yourself._

"I couldn't get over how that team of astronauts risked their lives and added more than a year to their own voyage… just to save one person…" she marveled.

"He was a member of their team," Weller shrugged. "I get that. I would do the same for my team." She nodded, looking at him steadily, neither smiling nor frowning. Knowing what she did about Weller, she believed that indeed, he _would_ do just that for his team. It was the kind of person he was. Though she knew that she hadn't earned the privilege, she couldn't help but wonder whether he thought of her as a member of his team.

He could see the wheels turning in her head, as they had been doing since the movie had ended. It was hard to tell if she was just digesting it all, or if something was actually bothering her, but she'd been doing pretty well at articulating the things that had stuck out to her so far.

"I think my favorite part of the whole movie was the end," he volunteered. "It was one of the last lines. 'When I was stranded up there, did I think I was gonna die? Yes. You can either accept that, or you can get to work. You just _begin_ … You solve one problem and the next… And if you solve enough problems, you get to come home.'" She thought about it for a second, realizing how true it was.

"Of course, not everyone is trying to get _home_ , but everyone is trying to get somewhere. It's what we all do, really, all our lives. You solve enough problems to get to where you want to be. Or where you think you should be."

"What if you don't even know where you're trying to go?" she asked. She sat up, pulling herself to a sitting position near the middle of the couch, still facing him, but drew her knees up tightly against her, wrapping her arms around them. It was a tight contrast – she was sitting so close, but still cutting herself off. She rested her chin on her knees, glancing up at him. _She looks so_ _ **small**_ _when she curls herself up like that_ , he thought.

"Then you just keep going until you figure it out," he replied with a shrug. "And you don't try to tell yourself that you're alone when you're not." She could almost feel his eyes boring into her, but she looked away. It was scary how easily she _didn't_ feel alone when she was around him.

"After all," he continued, "Mark Watney never could've gotten off Mars by himself. No one can do it all on their own, no matter how much safer it feels to believe that you can." She hazarded a glance at him to find him looking right at her.

 _Busted_ , she thought, blushing slightly and looking away again.

"Sometimes," he said, "you just have to blast yourself into space with nothing but a tarp covering you, adjust your velocity by cutting your space suit, and then trust that someone will just catch you somehow."

Jane lifted her head and raised her eyebrows at him. "That sounds more than a little scary, whether or not it's a metaphor," she said, smiling slightly.

"Big risk, big reward," he shrugged.

She just nodded. Her head was swimming just then, and it was hard to focus on one thing over another. Laying her cheek against her knees so that she was looking at the floor, she could feel him watching her curiously. She knew that she should probably say something… but what? Her thoughts were tied in knots, and it felt like her emotions were pulling the knots tighter.

There weren't too many inches between them, but Weller felt like there were too many. Still, he forced himself to stay where he was. There were the realities of poison ivy to remember, of course, but also the complicated dance that they continuously engaged in, right around that line of professionalism. Whether she was looking at him or not, the look in her eyes was almost pleading for… something. He couldn't tell quite what, though. Or maybe it wasn't pleading. Maybe it was just… searching.

He stood up slowly, and walked around the coffee table, kneeling on the floor on the far side, to where one of them had grouped some similar puzzle pieces, and started trying to find matches for them. Every few minutes he looked up at her, wondering if she was getting any closer to sorting out her thoughts. Sometimes she was staring into the distance, and sometimes she was looking at him.

The third or fourth time he looked up and caught her watching him, smiling slightly, he didn't look away. "What?" he asked.

She shrugged, then said, "I'm glad I'm not stuck on Mars."

Chuckling, he replied, "I'm glad you're not on Mars, too," then added, "because I'm _not_ a scientist, so it would be a hell of a lot harder for me to figure out how to bring you back."

Her smile widened in surprise, and she chuckled.

"Wait! You don't think I'd leave you on Mars, do you? Of course not. Which brings me to ask… what were you doing on Mars, anyway?" He stifled a laugh.

 _He's so ridiculous sometimes,_ she thought. "I don't know," she said seriously. "Someone wiped my memory."

"Dammit," he replied, "then I guess we'll just have to keep on looking for clues. Even if we don't know where we're trying to go."

The use of the pronoun _we_ was not lost on her, and she finally unfolded her legs from in front of her, setting her feet on the floor and glancing down at the puzzle pieces spread out on the table. She could feel him watching her again, so she looked up and couldn't help but smile at his obvious sincerity. _He's too much_ , part of her thought.

 _Don't overthink it,_ said another part of her. And so for once, she simply decided not to.

"You must be getting hungry by now," she told him, consulting the clock. "It's already almost 4:30!"

"You know, now that you say that, I _am_ getting hungry…" he nodded, already standing up. "And I think _you_ look like you could use some ice cream. Or maybe that's just me. But you should have some, too." In seconds, he was already in the kitchen, taking out bowls, spoons and various containers from the freezer. "Stay right there," he told her. "I'm on top of it. Do you have any requests, or should I surprise you?"

"You have a pretty good track record for surprises," she replied, "so go ahead and surprise me." He grinned back at her through the cutout, then set to work scooping various kinds of ice cream, then putting all the containers back in the freezer before they melted. When he returned to the couch, he gave her what she would have described more as a giant sundae than a bowl of ice cream. "You expect me to eat all that?" she asked, laughing in surprise, followed quickly by, "I mean… thank you."

"Well, if you can't eat it, I will," he promised. Somehow she no longer had trouble believing that. "As a matter of fact," he continued, "I'll start right now…" He'd sat back down on the couch beside her, and he reached slowly towards her ice cream with his spoon.

"Hey! None of that!" she cried, holding up her own spoon as if to use it to defend her ice cream from his. "Eat your own!" They laughed and each ate their own ice cream, Jane throwing the occasional warning glance in Weller's direction when he looked too hard at her bowl. In the end, she did finish it all.

"See, you finished it!" he told her.

"This is so much better than Mars," she said, setting her bowl on the end table beside her.

"I think we'd all agree on that," Weller nodded. "There is _no ice cream_ on Mars."

The both chuckled at the absurdity of the conversation. It felt good to be back to lighthearted after the heavier topics that she'd been stuck on for a while.

"Hey, do you have the mad libs with you?" she asked him.

"Yeah, I didn't take them home last night," he said. "They should be on the counter. Why, do you want to do some more?"

"Yeah, they were pretty funny," she said with a smile. Before she could protest, he was up from the couch to get them, the pen they'd used still sitting with the books.

"Okay," he said, flopping back down on the opposite end of the couch and turning to face her. "Do you want to write first?"

"Sure," she replied, taking the pad and pen from him. "Verb?"

"Eat."

"Well _that_ figures," she replied with a smile. "Number?"

"1,948."

"Number?"

"0."

"All or nothing, huh?" she asked.

"You know it," he replied with a nod.

"Noun?"

"Key."

"Adjective?"

"Fuzzy."

"Adjective?"

"Ferocious."

"Noun?"

"Building."

"Number?"

"12,345,678,910."

She rolled her eyes at him and shook her head. "Okay, okay, we know you know big numbers… Adjective?"

"Sore."

"One of my new favorites. Noun?"

"Spider."

"Noun?"

"Trash."

"Verb?"

"Smile."

The way he'd said it, it had sounded like a polite request, so she looked up and smiled at him. "Number?"

"72."

"Number?"

"40."

"Adjective?"

"Creepy."

"Plural noun?"

"Cracks."

"Noun?"

"Pen."

"Number?"

"88."

"Okay, so tell me about New Year's Resolutions," she said, looking up at him. "Because that's the title."

"A New Year's Resolution is sort of like a promise you make to yourself of things you're going to do better in the new year. So you make them on New Year's Eve or New Year's Day. And because people are usually very ambitious when they make their resolutions and find it hard to follow through with them, most people _break_ theirs by the end of January," he told her.

"Do you make New Year's Resolutions?" she asked him curiously.

"No," he said, not elaborating and shaking his head. A warning light had popped up in her head that told her not to press the issue farther. It was clearly something that he didn't want to talk about, so she simply started reading.

"Number one: I, **Kurt** , will **eat** every day at the gym for at least **1,948** minutes," she read with a smile. "You know, I'm pretty sure that's mathematically impossible, not to mention some other logistical problems with that plan…" That at least got a smile out of him.

"Why were these my resolutions?" he asked.

"Because it said _person in the room,_ so it was either you or me, so I chose you," she said, as if it made all the sense in the world.

"Number two: At the dinner table, I will eat only **0** servings of **key**."

"That seems like a resolution that I can keep," he agreed with a nod. "Don't generally eat keys. They're too crunchy."

"Number three: I will watch only **fuzzy** television shows," Jane read. "I wonder what counts as the definition of a _fuzzy_ TV show…" she wondered aloud. Weller only shrugged.

"Number four: I will tell **Jane** that I think she is a **ferocious** **building**." She looked up at him questioningly, as if she expected him to explain himself.

"Well, I suppose you can be rather ferocious…" he said thoughtfully, earning a slightly confused smile. "I'm not sure about the building part thought… We might have to revisit that another time."

"Okay then," she continued. "Number five: I will ask my boss for a **$12,345,678,910** raise." Looking up at him, she said, "Somehow I don't see that in the budget, even for Supervisory Special Agent Weller. Sorry," she told him. "Maybe start with something smaller…" He nodded in agreement.

"Number six: I will admit that I have a **sore** personality." She bit her lip to hold in her laughter, and then looked at him said, "I'm going to leave that one alone." He just shook his head at her.

"Number seven: I will take my **spider** to the **trash** at least once a month."

"That seems reasonable," Weller replied with a smile.

Jane looked at him as though he was crazy. "Well, okay, better you than me," she told him. "Number eight: I will **smile** one book every **72** weeks." Making a thoughtful face, she said, "I'm not sure what good it does to smile at books… but I think I know what _Zapata_ would say to this one…" Weller rolled his eyes at her.

"Yeah, yeah, I should just resolve to _smile_ once every 72 weeks," Weller replied, which was exactly what Jane had been thinking, despite the fact that she saw him smile _all the time_.

"I guess you just save them all for me, huh? Cause I see you smile at least… every few days…" she teased him. She could have been wrong, but she thought he might actually have been blushing under all that scruff on his face…

"Yep, all for you," he said, his voice suddenly a little softer.

She shook her head, thinking that it was a cute thing to say, but not true. "Number nine: I will try to lose at least **40** pounds." Looking up at him, she shook her head. "Bad idea," she told him. "You don't have forty pounds to lose."

"You don't think so? Well, maybe once we've finished all the ice cream in the refrigerator…"

They both chuckled as they went on to the next one. "Number ten: I will return the **creepy** **cracks** I borrowed from **Jane**." Looking up at him as though she was thinking hard about it, she said, "You know what, I gave it some thought, and you can keep them. They're too creepy for me anyway."

"Only if you're sure," he told her with a smile.

"You're so nice. Yes, I'm absolutely sure. Okay, your last New Year's Resolution is number eleven: I will get on a **pen** and only spend **88** dollars a month."

"Wow," he replied. "In New York City? I'm pretty sure that's impossible, unless this pen is actually somehow erasing debt, or producing money, or… something like that. I mean, goals are one thing, but that's just a little crazy!

Shaking her head at him, she handed the books and the pen without a word. Despite her not wearing a glove, he took them from her. "I'll risk it," he said simply, before beginning once more.

"Noun?"

"Space."

 _Someone still has the movie on her mind,_ he thought. This time they went back and forth quickly, filling in the words without any other comments. "Adjective?"

"Lonely."

"Plural noun?"

"Potatoes."

"Adjective?"

"Pure."

"Silly Word?"

"Ninja."

"Noun?"

"Laundry."

"Plural noun?"

"Sheep."

"Plural noun?"

"Books."

"Adjective?"

"Dull."

"Plural noun?"

"Cars."

"Adjective?"

"Sparkling."

"Adjective?"

"Big.

"Adjective?"

"Old."

"Plural noun?"

"Words."

"Adjective?"

"Round."

"Adjective?"

"Slow."

"Plural noun?"

"Emotions."

"Adjective?"

"Luxurious."

"Adjective?"

"Australian."

"That went fast," Weller said, looking impressed. "Now, this is your horoscope. Do you remember those?"

Jane just rolled her eyes and sighed. He smiled sympathetically at her, getting the sudden urge to reach out to her. _That doesn't matter_ , he thought. She was always unnecessarily hard on herself that way, but he imagined that most people would be in her place.

"It has to do with when you were born," he told her, "and based on your birthday, it's supposed to tell certain things about you. Just listen, I'm sure this will be completely accurate." He started to read as she smiled grudgingly. "Those born under the sign of **space** , like **Jane** , possess **lonely** personalities and are forever searching for new **potatoes** to conquer."

 _Why did the wording have to work out like that?_ he wondered unhappily. He wasn't trying to make her feel bad, after all.

"How hard do you think it is to conquer a potato?" she asked thoughtfully.

"I don't know, I wouldn't _think_ it was very hard," he replied. "Do you feel like you have a lonely personality?"

"Well, I don't know a _lot_ of people," she said thoughtfully, "but I don't feel lonely at the moment." They smiled at each other for a few seconds before he looked back down to continue.

"This is a more or less **pure** month for you because the planet **Ninja** is directly over your **laundry** and Mercury is influencing your **sheep**."

"If there's a ninja over my laundry, I might need to be worried," Jane commented. "I hear they're not good at folding."

"And that Mercury is a terrible influence on your sheep," Weller added, "I heard him teaching them _all_ the bad words." They both shook their heads in mock disappointment.

"This means you should avoid eating **books** and stay away from anybody with **dull** **cars** ," he read.

"I wouldn't eat a book, even if you tried to make me," she told him seriously, "just like I would never expect you to eat a key. And don't worry, your car isn't dull." A small laugh escaped him at that one.

"During the coming year, you will find conditions **sparkling** due to your **big** outlook on life and your **old** attitude toward **words**." He reread that sentence in his head. "It doesn't really say anything," he observed, "but it sounds like it a good thing for the most part…" She just nodded.

"You are best suited to a **round** mate with **slow** **emotions** and a **luxurious** complexion, which means, of course, that you can look forward to a really **Australian** life." At that, they both burst out laughing, not knowing what to say first, and kept laughing for more than a minute.

"That may have been the best line of either of them," he told her. "I'm anxious to know about this round mate with slow emotions and a luxurious complexion."

"Why, are you jealous?" she winked at him. He just laughed, but said nothing, simply shook his head and got up to stretch.

"So, are you hungry yet?" he asked.

 _I should have seen that coming. It's just after 5:30, after all._

"Already?" she asked him in surprise. "Maybe I should take it back, maybe you _will_ need to lose forty pounds." She smiled innocently at him as he pretended that he was going to swat her with the pillow at the end of the couch – which he didn't.

"Okay, okay, I can wait a little longer," he agreed. "And until then?" She shrugged, looking down at her arms and sighing. "So how are you feeling… 5 and a half hours after you started your new medicine?" he asked.

"I mean, I knew that they wouldn't all be gone _today,_ but I guess I was hoping to see some progress by now, even on the first day," she lamented. "None of them are dripping anymore, which I guess is the first step… but I'm still blotchy and contagious and now I'm stuck inside… for who _knows_ how long!"

He sat back down next to her, nodding sympathetically. "Yep," he agreed, "it sucks." She laughed quietly, not having expected those words to come out of his mouth. "But you know what it's better than?"

She looked at him and nodded. "Yes, I do," she replied. "Being stranded on Mars. And not having a team of scientists to figure out how to bring me back home."

"Exactly," he replied. "We may not be NASA, but I think we've got _this_ situation under control."

She just nodded, supposing that he was right. As much as she hated to be patient, that was what she needed to do. "So what were you thinking of for dinner, anyway? Because I know you already have it planned."

"Yes I do," he replied proudly. "But it is a surprise, so just hang out over here and be surprised when it's ready. It won't take long. Okay?"

 _How can I say no to that?_ she asked herself. It was simple – she couldn't. "Sounds like a plan to me," she replied, "unless you're going to let me help."

"Not today," he said thoughtfully. "We need to get past the poison ivy situation. No contamination of food or chefs is allowed in the kitchen. And it's a small area, so I must insist," he clarified. "But we'll come back to that idea at another time."

 _He'd let me help with cooking once I don't have poison ivy anymore?_ That was an interesting idea – that they would hanging out like this at one of their places once she no longer needed a poison ivy companion? _I guess we'll see_ , she thought. _If it_ _ **ever**_ _goes away._

With Weller now in the kitchen, Jane stretched out across the couch, feeling a little sleepy. It hadn't been a hard day, but the excitement over the new drugs had made her a little more hyped up than usual. _Plus, you did go to Mars_ , she reminded herself. _That would make anyone more than a little sleepy._ She knew that Weller would wake her up when the food was ready, just in case she happened to fall asleep.

Weller was getting ready to serve tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches when he looked over and saw that Jane had fallen asleep on the couch. He put a top on the soup and turned off the heat and set the sandwiches on a cutting board, and walked over to try to figure out just _how_ asleep she was. "Jane," he whispered, then tried again just a little louder. He didn't want to wake her up if she was really that tired. He decided he'd give her until 7:00 – so about an hour – before he'd try a little harder to wake her up.

He sat down on the floor next to the end of the coffee table closer to her head, so that she was only a foot or so to his left, and took a look at the puzzle pieces in front of him. About forty minutes later he had joined several small clusters of pieces together, making some noticeable progress, and was trying to hunt down some others when he heard her shift beside him. Turning to his left, he saw that she was awake, her eyes still blinking against the light.

The first thing she noticed when she opened her eyes was that Weller was right in front of her. Even though she knew that she was lying on the couch, somehow his face was almost on the same level as hers. It was confusing for a minute, until she realized that he was sitting on the floor by the coffee table.

"Hey," he said, leaning in her direction a little more, "I was almost ready to try and wake you up again. My first attempt failed."

"Sorry," she replied, "I didn't realize I was so sleepy."

"No big deal," he assured her. "You hungry?"

"Yeah," she said, sitting up slowly, still waking up.

"Okay, well we'll be eating over at the counter in just a minute," he said, getting up to see if anything needed to be warmed up again. By the time Jane wandered over to the stools, he was putting down tomato soup and grilled cheese in front of her, plus a glass of water and one of her antibiotic pills.

"Thanks," she smiled. "It smells so good." She swallowed the giant pill first, to get it over with, then worked on the food.

She was quiet, he noticed, but he couldn't decide if that was because she was still groggy from her nap, or just had things still occupying her mind from earlier that day.

When they finished eating, she signed contentedly. "That was _so_ much better that being stranded on Mars by myself," she told him sincerely. He couldn't help but smile at that.

"Are you sure you're okay?" he asked her.

"Mmmm… yes. I'm telling myself that I'm doing great. It was a pretty good day, right? I'm starting to feel better, even if it doesn't _look_ any better," she sighed, looking down at the angry blisters on her arms. He could see that it was bothering her, even though she didn't want it to.

"It was the first day of the new medicine. The fact that you're feeling better is the first sign it's working. Give it a chance, okay?" he said soothingly.

"It's easier than worrying about all the other stuff, I guess," she said quietly.

"That is definitely more complicated than getting rid of even the most severe poison ivy," he agreed. "But that's going to work out, too."

"The answers have to be out there somewhere, right?" she asked. "Eventually there has to be someone who won't slip through our fingers…" It sounded more like she wanted to believe it that that she actually _did_ believe it.

"I have a little bit of experience in not giving up, remember?" he said. "So just stick with me." Then suddenly, he had an idea. "I know what you need," he told her, getting down off the stool. "Go get your coat."

"Where are we going?" she asked, confused. She'd just been thinking that she was tired.

"You'll see," he said mysteriously.

They put on their jackets and walked outside, waving to Jane's surprised looking detail as they headed down the sidewalk. From the direction Weller was headed, Jane could guess what he had in mind. Luckily, the street lighting in her neighborhood was pretty good, so it wasn't too dark for the short walk back to the playground. Half a day of house arrest – or so it felt like – and Jane already felt like she was being sprung from jail. But now that the sun had gone down, there was nothing that said that she needed to be inside. The doctor had said stay out of the sun, and the sun had gone down hours before.

They headed for the swings first this time, and before long they were going as high as the swings could go, whizzing back and forth, faster and faster. It was different to be on the playground after dark. She was fairly sure that she'd seen a sign that said that it wasn't allowed, actually. Then again, when you hung around with an FBI Agent, you could be reasonably sure that you wouldn't have trouble with the police.

Finally, the cold of the rushing air had made their faces sting, and even though it seemed like her freedom had ended much too soon, it was time to head back. Before she slowed down, however, she took one more look up into the sky as she reached the top of the swing's arc. Somewhere up there was Mars, and she was not stuck there. For some reason, that seemed oddly comforting just them.

They walked back to Jane's house with their gloved hands shoved in their pockets, now feeling the cold much more acutely than they had earlier. They bumped shoulders as they tried to walk along the sidewalk next to each other, pushing each other off into the grass by accident – sort of – and trying not to laugh too loudly.

He was ready to make sure she got into her house safely and head home, when yet another idea struck him. He couldn't remember the last time he'd come up with things to occupy his or anyone else's time so many days in a row, well, possibly ever. Jane walked towards her door, smiling as if she was about to say good night, when he told her, "New plan. Get in the car."

She looked at him, now totally confused. "Where are we going, Weller? I live _there_."

"You'll see! Don't you like surprises? Come on, it won't take long." He had that excited grin on his face again.

 _And why not?_ Jane thought. _It's not like you have something better to do._

They got into Weller's SUV, shivering, and set off. He seemed to know exactly where he was going. At first Jane thought it might be that bakery, except that for one thing, they could easily walk, and for another thing, bakeries weren't usually open into the evening. They were general more a morning type establishment. A few minutes later, they pulled into the parking lot of a nondescript looking diner. She looked at him and just shook her head.

"You're hungry? _Again_? I mean I guess I shouldn't be surprised, but…" She just shook her head at him.

"No! Well… yes, now that you mention it. But no, that's not what I was thinking about. It's not something I usually go _out_ for, but I knew you didn't have any, because, well, I know the entire contents of your kitchen…" Jane just nodded. There was no denying that. He was the _only_ one who knew what was in her kitchen. "It was cold, so I was just thinking that we should have hot chocolate. Because that's just what you do when it's cold."

She smiled, impressed that he'd thought of yet another thing that "normal" people did, and that he went out of his way to make her a part of. "Okay, sounds good," she told him. They got out and made a dash through the cold to the warmth of the diner, where a tired looking waitress name Alyssa brought them huge, steaming cups of hot chocolate, and at Weller's insistence, slices of apple pie. He argued that this was exactly the right time of year for it, and who was Jane to argue?

Their snack behind them, Jane was now actually, legitimately tired. When Weller pulled up in front of her safe house, it was all she could do to stile a yawn.

"How about this plan," he said before she had a chance to say anything, "tomorrow, sleep in. We'll get a later start, and then after the sun goes _down_ , we'll go out and do something fun."

Jane smiled tiredly, nodding her head. "Sounds good. Especially the _sleep in_ part. I think I will…" she said, yawning once again. She opened her car door and put her right foot on the ledge to step down, but then turned back to look at him. "Thanks, Weller. _Again._ " She couldn't believe after this many days, he was still keeping her company, but she wasn't going to complain if he wasn't.

"Good night, Jane. Now go inside so I can see that you made it in safely," he told her. She'd been about to shut the door, but she leaned back inside for just long enough to call, " _Bossy_ ," and before he could react, she had closed the door and waved over her shoulder, getting into the house as soon as she could to get away from the cold.

As tired as she was, once she'd gotten ready for bed she stood in front of her bedroom window for a few minutes, peering through the blinds at the night sky. The stars weren't visible, thanks to the streetlights and various lights of New York City, but after the previous night, she knew what was up there – or at least what it looked like from Earth. _The answers are out there,_ she told herself. _Just like Mars_. _But here is an okay place to be, too – answers or not._

And then, finally, she climbed into bed, thinking that maybe she _could_ find a way through all the insanity that seemed to surround her.

After she got a good night's sleep, that is.


	7. Day 9 (A Blanket Fort & Colored Lights)

**Disclaimer: I do not own Jane or Kurt or Blindspot. Writing about them is simply the outlet for my obsession. And yet again today, my itchiness, and my very, very slowly disappearing poison ivy scars as well.**

 _A/N: I did a little bit of a time jump here, just a few days (chapter 6 was Monday, chapter 7 is Thursday), because I know from personal experience how tedious the waiting for healing is (though I have the distinct disadvantage of not having Weller to keep me company), and I don't want the story to drag – Jane and I need to recover, and hopefully very soon! But we're not out of the woods yet, so there's at least a few more chapters left. Interestingly, this took a few different turns that even *_ _ **I**_ _* was not expecting… So enjoy!_

As had become her habit over the past few days, Jane managed to make herself stay in bed until after 10:00 am, burying her head under her blankets after the sun began trying to wake her up. It was different than the days the previous week when she had slept in because she was achy and miserable and didn't want to move, lest she press on a spot that hurt. Sure, she still had slightly sensitive spots, but far fewer of them. This kind of sleeping in – the purposeful kind, knowing that she was getting her rest now so that she would have more energy to do something fun later in the day – was a welcome change.

She had now made it to Thursday, day 9 of the poison ivy's siege on her body. On Tuesday, 24 hours after she'd started on the stronger drugs, there had been only a frustratingly small difference in the appearance of her blisters. They were definitely drying out, but their size didn't seem to have changed much. Or had they? She looked at them so often, hoping for a change, that she really couldn't _see_ a change at all. Tuesday had been exciting because she'd started to have energy again, although _that_ was also frustrating without a real way to channel that energy. On Wednesday, day 8, the redness was finally subsiding enough for her to really notice, and she started to believe that eventually, it might all be a bad memory.

Interested to see what day 9 would bring, when she finally did get up, she took a cool shower – or as cool as she could stand, though it was probably still considered warm – as Dr. Jenner had suggested, so that she wouldn't irritate her skin further. Though the water hitting those spots no longer felt like fire hitting her skin, strangely enough it felt similar to scratching an incessant itch. She couldn't decide if she liked the feeling or not, but it was what it was… and it was certainly better than it _had_ been. She dried off and got dressed as quickly as she could. The look of her whole body covered in tattoos no longer bothered her, but those blisters all over her… that was another story, and something she didn't really want to see.

Checking her phone, she saw that she had a text from Weller, as had become the new routine as well. _See you at 12_ , it said. Though he hadn't actually said so, she had a strong suspicion that he'd been going into work in the mornings over the past few days, which she certainly could not begrudge him – though she _was_ jealous. If she were recovered, she would be going to work, too – doing something important with herself, looking for the answers that she so desperately wanted and not just sitting around trying to think of idle ways to occupy her mind. Instead, she was at the mercy of what felt like the world's slowest recovery from something as trivial as an allergic reaction, possibly the slowest recovery in history. That was just a guess, of course, since she wasn't exactly the best person to be an expert on history.

 _But it's better than being stuck on Mars alone,_ she reminded herself, which made her smile. That had become her new mantra, even though it was a little silly, and it helped her to put things in perspective when her world threatened to tilt off of its axis. At least, it helped some of the time.

She carried her phone downstairs with her, setting it on the kitchen counter as she took out a paper filter and the container of coffee. She was now a pro at this, after a few days practice, though it never came out nearly as good as the coffee from the bakery around the corner. But no matter, that just gave them an excuse to visit the bakery – or more accurately, since she'd been told to stay out of the sun this week, for _Weller_ to visit the bakery and bring her a coffee from there. She looked forward to being able to go there herself again, hopefully before next year – which was more than a month away.

 _Hopefully by next week this mess will be cleared up,_ she thought, looking down at her arms. The patches of red, blistered skin were significantly less angry looking now, and while none of them had disappeared yet, one of them had scabbed over significantly and the very dry top layer of skin was beginning to flake off. Parts of the blistered areas now appeared orangish, which looked a little strange, but she figured that it was just the next stage of the healing process. The skin around the worst blistered areas was gradually changing from red back to her regular, pale flesh color where it wasn't covered by the ink of her tattoos. It appeared that the pockets of skin that had still contained pus – the blisters that had not grown big enough to pop – when the steroids had arrested their growth were remaining the reddest the longest.

 _Yep,_ she thought, _It still looks_ _ **really**_ _gross._

She could finally see the progress now, which was encouraging, but it was still moving much too _slowly._ She just wanted it _gone_. It didn't look like it would be necessary to go to see Dr. Jenner's friend the dermatologist that day, since she _was_ continuing to see improvement… she could only hope that by Sunday, when her steroids ran out, there wouldn't still be blotches on her skin. Then she _would_ have to go back for more treatment… at the very least, a refill of her prescription. That, of course, would mean that she had have even longer to wait before she could rejoin her life, already in progress.

The distinct hissing noise of the coffee machine dropping the last of the water through the filter woke her from her thoughts. Adding the right amount of everything, she turned and leaned against the counter, taking a sip. Yes, it was the little things in life, and this was one of them. Sure, she'd rather be at work, but she had come to a sort of uneasy truce with herself over the past few days, once she'd finally started seeing her rash begin to subside. _It will happen, it just needs time._ Even Jane's impatience in general, and her incessant need to find the truth about her past couldn't speed up her body's ability to fight an allergic reaction, as frustrating as that fact was.

She poured herself some cereal, one that Weller had picked up for her, something with flakes and chopped raisins, dates and pecans. It was pretty good – though so far it was the only one she'd tried, so she had nothing to compare it with. He'd made sure to supply her with what she needed to survive the mornings until he got there at lunch time. Still, she intended to hold him to that promise of teaching her to cook. After all, she hated that there was something so basic that she was just plain bad at.

With her coffee and cereal in hand, she went and sat on the couch in front of the puzzle. They had made significant progress on it in the past few days, and she now had to set her coffee down on the end table, instead of being able to find a space for her mug between the pieces, as she had been able to a few days before. Picking up the remote control for the TV, she pressed power and the screen across the room came to life.

She'd left it on some news channel the day before, and that was what she was watching now, as well. She didn't recognize any of it, of course, but she supposed that she had to start somewhere. Some of the scandals that came up on the news reminded her of tattoo cases, in that they involved corruption, or scandal, or something similar dealing with a public figure or other supposedly important person.

She'd flipped through the dizzying array of other channels a few times a few days before, but she hadn't found anything else that had interested her so far. Maybe if Weller or someone else on the team recommended something to her, there would have been a better chance that it would be something worth watching and not just the garbage that, as far as she could see, was all that was out there. But for now, having the noise and slight information overload of news was sufficient distraction to keep her company for another forty-five minutes or so, until Weller arrived.

Looking across the room to the blanket fort that he had constructed, in his quest to recreate for her as many of the so called "simple pleasures in life," whether they were usually enjoyed by adults or children, she couldn't help but smile. They'd used the chairs from the counter where they often ate, and a few very large blankets from her linen closet upstairs. The result had taken multiple cases of trial and error, but true to his word, Weller was not dissuaded by failure. In the end, their blanket fort was very comfortable, very sturdy, roomy enough for both of them to have space to relax without being cramped, all while still maintaining the cozy feel that he had insisted was crucial to blanket fort construction.

Her cereal and coffee both finished, she rinsed her dishes in the kitchen sink, took the three tiny capsules of her "super drug" that were finally causing the blisters to retreat, which needed to be taken with food, plus the one, smaller one that fought off the itch she felt all over, and then crawled into the fort. She found the book of Patterson's that she'd attempted to start reading the first time the previous week, just where she'd left it the day before. After starting it over again in the past few days, this time she'd had no trouble getting into it. The plot was a little bit unrealistic, she thought, but she supposed that she could suspend her disbelief. After all, the plot of the book was more realistic than the plot of her own _life_ , which somehow _wasn't_ made up. Laying comfortably on her stomach, her chin balanced on a pillow, she settled in to read for a little while.

Jane's suspicions were correct. Not that it would have surprised anyone who knew him, Weller had been going into the office in the mornings. The bigger surprise was that he was able to tear himself away as easily as he seemed to, leaving things wherever they were around 11:30 and delegating them to Reade and Zapata as he headed out the door to check on Jane. He know that he was pushing things a little, burning the candle at both ends, so to speak, but he also knew that he could go for days on very little sleep – a week even, sometimes, thanks to years of cases that would drag on and on, allowing them almost no time to recharge. Four or five hours was plenty for him, so even staying out later with Jane the past few nights still allowed him enough time to get a passable amount of sleep and be in the office between 6:00 and 6:30 the next morning. This was _still_ earlier than the rest of his team most days.

Reade still complained about the amount of time Weller spent entertaining Jane, but less so since he'd been coming into work, and things could at least start to get back to something resembling normal around the office.

It was strange, however, being a three person team again – four if you counted Patterson, but she rarely, if ever, went into the field. They'd just gotten used to Weller splitting them into twos – Jane always stayed with him, of course, and Reade and Zapata were always sent together – and now suddenly, there were only three of them again.

Where Reade felt a sense of relief at having the "unnecessary" responsibility of babysitting Jane removed from them, Zapata had a slight sensation that something was missing. It wasn't about her personal feelings about Jane one way or the other, however, just more about what made logistical sense. After all, it seemed smarter to have two teams of two. Weller always sent the other two of them to break off together, so they had each other's back. Lead agent or not, Zapata thought it would have made more sense to have someone who had Weller's back, as well. Even without training, Jane had already saved Weller's life more than once – a fact that Reade seemed determined to ignore.

But Weller wasn't concerned with Reade's attitude, because though it made him more difficult to deal with, Reade's attitude wasn't going to change Weller's behavior. That day, as usual, Weller discussed the team's latest case until just after 11:30, then told them he'd see them tomorrow and headed out. Making a quick stop at the bakery for coffee, he headed for Jane's house, pulling up into what had become his usual spot in front. He balanced the two coffees carefully as he closed the car door, clicking 'lock' and heading to her front step.

She was laying on her back in the blanket fort, head on a pillow, her book held above her face. This was the best part of the book – close enough to the end that it was really exciting, but far enough that the conflict was not yet resolved – and she was concentrating intently. So intently, in fact, that she hadn't even heard the _chirp_ ing sound of Weller's car locking, which she usually did, nor had she heard him knocking on her door the first time. She could tell that he was on his second attempt because the knocking became louder and was accompanied by her name. Another few seconds and he'd have had his key out and been opening it himself, worried. Scrambling to her feet, book in hand, she got to the door as fast as she could – peeking very quickly though she knew who it was on the other side of the door – and swung the door open for him.

"Sorry…" she said, slightly out of breath, "I was just…"

"Reading in the blanket fort?" he asked in amusement. This was _not_ the first time she hadn't heard the door for that very reason.

She made a face, trying not to laugh at herself and looking away, but they both knew that that was exactly what had happened. He shook his head at her and smiled, handing her a coffee. The intensity of her smile doubled, or maybe tripled, in her excitement.

"Thanks," she replied, feeling a flood of gratitude so strong, she found that she wanted to hug him. She didn't, though, simply beamed as she stepped back out of his way so that he could come in. Coffee in one hand and her book in the other, she returned to the same position in the blanket fort, setting her coffee carefully beside her. By the time he walked across the room to hang his jacket on the back of the chair at the counter and turned around, she was once again reading, laying back with her head on the pillow again, a fact that he found incredibly amusing.

"So, did you take over the whole place in there?" he asked.

"Nope," she said, eyes not leaving her book. "That wouldn't be very nice after you built the thing, would it?" Her eyes finally left the book and she looked at him, seeming very comfortable laying down there on the floor. After all, there was more than one very soft blanket under her.

"Well, it actually happens pretty often in blanket forts – hostile takeovers – squatters' rights… those kinds of issues. Basically, when you leave, you surrender your claims of ownership, and you don't know for sure if you'll be allowed back in…" he told her seriously.

"Wow," she mused, "I never realized that the rules of blanket forts were so… cutthroat." She looked up at his thoughtfully. "So some people want to have a blanket fort all to themselves? Isn't it more fun to have company?"

"Well," he said, ducking down to sit next to her on the floor of the fort, his own coffee in one hand, "keep in mind that these rules are usually made by kids ten and younger. They're not always the best at sharing. And their 'company' is usually a sibling. And siblings usually fight. Especially in close quarters. So…"

"Well, I think that's their loss," she said. "I don't want to evict you," she told him sincerely, looking up from where she was laying back on the pillow. "It's more fun when you're around."

He smiled down at her and shook his head.

"What?" she asked, slightly confused, as she set her book down.

"Nothing," he said innocently. "So is my book still around here somewhere?"

When he'd thought to pitch the idea of blanket forts a few days before, he'd had the foresight to bring a book of his own from his apartment. He hadn't had time to read a book in years – not for lack of wanting to, just because that was the pace of his life – so the blanket fort was a perfect excuse. He and Sarah, and sometimes he, Sarah and Taylor, had sat for hours on many rainy days with their books and toys in forts very similar to this one. After all, this ones was a near replica – the closest he could do from memory, anyway, plus a few improvements allowed by what he had since learned about constructing different types of structures – of the ones of their childhood.

"Right where you left it, over there," she told him, pointing down by her feet. "I told you, I didn't want to evict you from the fort."

"Very nice of you," he told her, reaching forward to pick up his book, then laying back against the pillow that was about a foot away from hers.

"I don't think kids can properly appreciate blanket forts," she said thoughtfully, staring up the white blanket that made up the fort's ceiling.

"Probably not," he agreed, "the same way they can't appreciate getting enough sleep or any of the other things parents have to force on them. Sawyer's better than most about that, I think, but to a certain extent I think you _can't_ appreciate that stuff until you've had the experiences that teach you _why_ it's important."

"It's different though," she insisted. "It's more than something that's important. As great as this fort is, it's not that it's _important…_ " She looked at him and saw the look of mock horror on his face, quickly adding, "It's _awesome_ , don't get me wrong… but important... No. The thing, I think, that makes me appreciate being in here is that it's so much the opposite of the outside world…" She didn't feel like she was quite expressing it right, but she was on the right track.

"That's what makes so many adults nostalgic for the things that remind them of their childhoods," he replied, "for what they represent, more than anything else. A time before everything was so complicated and harsh, as the world tends to be."

Though she was looking up at the ceiling, and he was watching her profile, he saw the change come over her. _Shit,_ he thought, _why the hell did I say that?_ He scrambled to think of what he could say to get his foot out of his mouth. _  
_

"Of course, it doesn't matter that you don't remember blanket forts from when we were kids," he began, throwing in the pronoun "we" instead of "you" for good measure. "You of all people have certainly seen enough of the harshness of the world – even if it has been crammed into a very short time – and that's really all you need to be able to appreciate the simple things."

Beside him, she sighed and nodded, still staring up at the ceiling, now appearing that she was purposely not looking at him. Now he felt even worse, somehow.

"Sorry, Jane," he said, suddenly wishing he could simply put all his words back in his mouth and just keep in shut. "I shouldn't have—"

She shook her head, cutting him off. "No, Weller, don't apologize. You didn't say anything wrong. I just…" Sighing again, she closed her eyes. She knew that he knew what she was trying to say, and that she didn't need to articulate it… it was just frustrating to her that she couldn't. It was frustrating not to have a past that she could remember, even if she had Weller there to tell her about it. Suddenly she felt like _most_ things were frustrating, actually.

 _Really nice work, Weller_ , he told himself sarcastically. Since he couldn't think of a good way to fix it, he settled for the next best thing, which was trying to change the subject. This one might even earn him a laugh, if he was lucky.

"Hey," he said, putting his hand on her arm to try to bring her attention back from wherever she had gone, her eyes still closed. "You ready for some lunch?" _It's worth a shot_ , he thought.

It was so easy, _too_ easy, to get carried away by her emotions. She knew that she needed to work on that, but it was easier said than done. Besides, here they were, hanging out in the blanket fort – she shouldn't be using this time to overthink a few words that Weller hadn't meant anything at all by. Of all of the small group of people she knew, he was the last one who would say anything that would hurt her feelings on purpose, and she _knew_ that.

She was brought back to Earth then, by a familiar sensation. His hand on her arm – heat radiating into her skin despite the fabric of her long sleeved shirt in between. A smile crept back across her face before she opened her eyes. _How does he do that_? she wondered. _It's like magic._

"I thought you'd never ask," she replied, "and yet, I'm surprised you didn't ask sooner, seeing as you're always read to eat." He noticed that she suddenly looked more like herself and significantly less burdened than she had only a minute before. "May I help?" she added hopefully.

"Not today," he replied kindly, "but thank you for the offer." Jane just shook her head at him, knowing that protesting wouldn't help. With that he stood up and walked to the kitchen, which now felt more familiar to him than the kitchen in his own apartment. At least here, he didn't have to worry about Sarah creating chaos every time she walked through the doorway, the way she did in _his_ kitchen.

The plan wasn't for anything fancy today, just peanut butter and jelly, which seemed like the most appropriate thing to eat in a blanket fort. He put the sandwiches together his special way, peanut butter on both sides and jelly in the middle, as he'd been trying without success to convince Sarah to do for years. In just a few minutes he was back at the fort with their two plates.

Jane was now sitting up and sipping her coffee, her book laying on the floor beside her. "Thanks," she said, taking the plate her offered her, which also held a large antibiotic pill, along with a glass of water. "Peanut butter and jelly, Kurt Weller style?" she asked. Pretty much everyone freaked out when she told them she'd never tried peanut butter and jelly, and Weller had been promising to make it for her. Besides that, he was always talking about how everyone else made it wrong, but that his special technique kept the bread from getting soggy.

"It is indeed," he confirmed. "The perfect food to eat in a blanket fort. It's about as stereotypical 'kid food' as you can get. I think I advocated that we should live on these things back in the day. I made the argument for years… And I know we would have, if I'd been in charge of the food supply…" He sat down next to her again, careful not to knock over the coffee that he'd left there. "Let me know what you think," he told her, biting into his sandwich.

She wasn't sure what to expect from peanut butter and jelly, though she'd tried both individually in the past few months. As she chewed, she began to understand what the fuss was all about – it _was_ good. The peanut butter was a little overpowering, but that was mostly likely because of Kurt's heavy handed double dose. "I like it," she told him after swallowing her first bite, nodding approvingly. "I can see what all the fuss is about."

They finished their sandwiches quickly, and Kurt got up, taking their plates, and went back to the kitchen to make himself second one. "Do you want any another one?" he called.

"No, thanks, that was the perfect amount," she replied, finishing her coffee and settling back down against the pillow. While she would _prefer_ to be at work, doing something important, she was slowly learning to appreciate this whole relaxing thing.

He was back a few minutes later, sitting down beside her again.

"So how are you feeling today?" he asked before biting into his second sandwich.

" _Itchy_ , she replied. "Absolutely everywhere. I think it's actually worse than it was at first, when I was itchy at the beginning – though it's hard to remember exactly. All I know is as the blisters dry out, it feels like _all of_ my skinis drying out, so I just get itchier and itchier all over. It's another 'claw my skin off' moment, and I can't scratch _any_ of them. It's pretty miserable."

She looked at him with what he considered a pitiful look on her face. He certainly did pity her that frustration, at least, and he looked back at her sympathetically. "I know, I know," she grumbled, "it's better than being stuck on Mars alone." That made both of them smile, and she picked up her book again and began reading.

After finishing his second sandwich, he returned his plate to the safety of the kitchen, knowing all too well what could happen to dishes in blanket forts, and then located the book that he had been reading over the past few days as well. Ever since he'd built the fort earlier that week, they'd spent at least a few hours there each afternoon, mostly reading. There was something very comforting about re-living one of his fondest memories of childhood with her, especially since he didn't have to relive the pain of that time, which had started not too long afterwards.

Between the blanket fort and the puzzle, which was now nearly completed, they'd gotten better at lying low in the afternoons with minimal effort. He knew that Jane probably still felt like a caged animal during the hours that she "had to," (because really, no one was _forcing_ her) remain inside, but she showed the signs far less than she had at first. He imagined that it probably also helped that she could see the poison ivy marks all over her fading, slow though the progress was. It had certainly been a long week and a half or so. They'd spent so much time together, it was hard to remember that he hadn't know her – _Jane_ – very long at all, because at this point it felt like years.

Luckily for them, in one way at least, the time of year meant that by 4:30 pm, the sun was already sinking noticeably in the sky, and sunset wouldn't be too much farther away. Weller had programmed an alarm in his phone to remind him that that was the time to start working on making dinner, so that as soon as they had eaten, they could go out into the falling darkness. The noise of his alarm – just a classic beeping sound that summoned him to go and find his phone, which was in the pocket of his jacket, hung on the back of a chair at the counter – drew Jane momentarily out of her thoughts. She'd been standing at the window and watching the sky grow slowly darker, not really focusing on anything outside in particular.

"I feel like I'm a vampire," she sighed, catching Weller off guard as he dropped his phone back into his jacket pocket. He looked at her in amusement, waiting for the elaboration that he _hoped_ was coming. After all, that would be a pretty strange statement to make all on its own. He walked slowly in her direction, still waiting for her to explain what she meant. _This would be the part of a bad horror movie where everything went wrong_ , the voice in his head chimed in helpfully, making him smile even more at his own joke.

"Care to explain that one?" he asked her with a grin as he came to a stop near her – though about two feet farther away than usual. She looked in his direction, noticed where he was standing, and burst out laughing.

"Oh, sorry, I guess I should, shouldn't I?" she chuckled. "Well, let's see. I sit in a cave," she pointed back towards the blanket fort, "all day, just waiting for the sun to go down so I can go out and roam around under the cover of darkness," she told him dramatically. "That sounds rather vampirish, doesn't it?"

He nodded, smiling, but still not getting any closer. "So I don't need to watch my back for attempts on my life? Or worry about checking my neck for puncture wounds?"

"Well, I guess it's always good to be cautious, but I'm not currently thirsting for blood, if that's what you're asking," she replied.

"I'm glad to hear it," he said seriously. "That makes two of us." She grinned at him, and probably at the silliness of the entire conversation, unconsciously putting a hand up to cover one side of her neck, which only served to draw more attention to it. _Uh-uh, Weller_ , he told himself, forcing the thought to dissipate before it could even form. With that, he turned and walked back towards the kitchen to work on dinner.

Dinner, as it happened, was cheeseburgers and salad, and it seemed to be another in a growing line of successful meals. Jane was slowly crossing various foods off the list of things that people could be shocked that she'd never tired, and she liked that fact very much. She also found this particular meal to be delicious, so it was a double win.

"Ready to go?" he asked her as they finished eating, taking the plates to load in the dishwasher. She watched him for a second, having another momentary lapse of the overwhelming sensation of how very lucky she was, all things considered.

"Yes!" she cried excitedly. "Just one minute." She was in and out of the bathroom in under a minute, had her jacket fastened and hat and gloves in place in less than two, standing by the door and tapping her foot impatiently by the time he caught up with her.

"Okay, okay," he said, striding over to catch up with her, zipping up his jacket as he went. "Don't be so impatient."

"All things considered, I think I'm being pretty patient," she replied, in what he _thought_ was a joking growl, but decided not to risk finding out. By the time he'd gotten to the door she'd already pushed it open and stepped outside. It was mostly dark now, after 5:00 pm, and the air was cool. She loved this weather. At that moment, however, she was just happy to be out of the house, and would've settled for almost _any_ weather.

She'd already crossed the sidewalk, leaving the locking the door to him. As she'd explained to him the other day, if you were the last one out, you get to lock the door. "Besides," she'd reminded him, as if it should have been obvious, "you _do_ have a key." What could he say? It was true, he did. Never mind that it seemed strange to be put in charge of locking what was not his own house, but that he had a key to. He'd started feeling like he lived there more than he lived in his own apartment days ago, which was no wonder since he was only at his own apartment long enough to sleep and shower.

Though he knew that it probably should have seemed strange, in reality it was the opposite – it seemed completely normal. What would be strange, he already realized, would be going back to the old routine of only seeing her at work once this whole poison ivy thing was behind her. _Would they_ go back to that routine? There was no rules that said that they couldn't hang out outside of work, after all… He was _not_ looking forward to having to deal with that, and so he choose to ignore the fact that it could, in fact, happen – probably soon. No, he'd deal with that when they got there.

She was still ahead of him, bouncing up and down next to the car from a combination of excitement and cold, and he hit the button on the keyfab to unlock the doors so that she could let herself into the passenger seat. "Why are you moving so slowly?" she demanded eagerly as he climbed into his seat.

Chuckling at her overwhelming exuberance, he replied, "I'm not moving slowly. _You,_ on the other hand, seem to be stuck on fast forward." She just grinned excitedly. Shaking his head at her, he started the engine. She didn't even know where they were going, and he knew that she didn't really care. That was possibly one of the most endearing things about her current state of child-like excitement.

Though Jane didn't know it yet, they were heading into midtown to see the city all decorated for the holidays. He'd taken – or, as he remembered it, been dragged along on – a guided walking tour of that area the previous year, along with Sarah and one of her friends who'd been in town for the weekend, and though the official holiday tours wouldn't start for a few more weeks, he could do something similar on his own so Jane could see the city as it prepared for the holidays. Even a guy like himself, who didn't necessarily care about that kind of stuff, could see why people liked to see all the decorations. The crowds were insane, of course, but everything looked very festive. Actually, his plan was to start at Rockefeller Center, and who knows if Jane would even need to go any farther. The official, gigantic tree that would be lit there just after Thanksgiving wouldn't be lit for another few weeks, but there were plenty of other lights already up around the plaza at night. Maybe they'd have a chance to go back once the tree was up, as well…

 _Don't get ahead of yourself_ , he thought.

For the time being, all he was really thinking about was that evening's outing. Despite his outer sense of calm, he was excited to see her reaction when she saw where they were going.

Using his FBI connections and nabbing a parking spot that would have been otherwise unavailable to him, saving them a significant amount of walking, they left the car behind and walked just a few blocks. Suddenly, Rockefeller Center opened in front of them, the large plaza stretching out even wider than he remembered it, full of people bustling in all directions. The colored lights that were strung through the trees in different colors gave the whole area a magical glow, and Jane stared up at it in awe. He'd known that she would like it, but her reaction was even better than he'd hoped for.

"Wow," she whispered, "it's beautiful."

"Rockefeller Center," he told her. "It's pretty famous. There'll be a _huge_ – I believe the limit is 110 feet tall – Christmas tree in the center of the plaza in another week or two, and then they'll do a tree lighting ceremony… It's a big deal," he told her. She looked so overwhelmed by what was _already_ in front of her, however, he wasn't sure that she'd heard him.

"Wow," she simply repeated, her eyes sweeping around, trying to take in everything at once.

"Come on, we can walk through here," he suggested, trying to fit in with the flow of the crowd, while not losing Jane, who wasn't exactly keeping up with him or paying attention to the crowd around her. He quickly saw that it would be nearly impossible _not_ to lose her in the sea of people, especially in her current state of obliviousness, if he didn't hang onto her. It wasn't that he didn't _want_ to, of course, because it definitely wasn't something that he disliked doing. It was quite the opposite. That line that existed but didn't really exist between them, the unhealthy (as Mayfair seemed to think, anyway) level of his "investment" in Jane's case, made him think hard about doing that kind of thing, about holding onto her in whatever way. That said, it didn't stop him when it seemed like an appropriate decision – as it did just then.

After all, losing her in a crowd would certainly count as a problem, for several reasons.

As she walked forward slowly, staring up into the trees and not at where she was going, he grabbed her hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm, transferring his hands into his pockets tightly, both against the cold and so that the angle of her hand in his arm pulled her closer against the side of him.

 _So I don't lose her, of course._

 _Right. Just keep telling yourself that._

She looked up at him in surprise for a minute, smiling, and he swore he saw a mischievous glint in her eyes before she looked back at the lights high above them. If she thought anything of it – which clearly, it wasn't anything _negative_ , anyway – she said nothing. As they approached one of the few benches he could see, the couple who'd occupied it just happened to be standing up to leave, so he quickly steered her towards it, narrowly beating out another couple who'd apparently had the same thought.

Her arm was still tucked into his, since they'd sat down quickly, without breaking contact with each other, which meant that their sides were sitting pressed tightly together. Once again, he was absolutely not uncomfortable with it… he was very aware, however, of the grief that it would get him from Zapata, Reade and especially Mayfair, probably even Patterson, if they knew. Still, knowing this didn't change anything. After all, none of them were there. He was perfectly happy with the way they were sitting, and judging from the fact that Jane had just rested her head against his shoulder, she was too.

They just sat there for what felt like a long time, but in a good way, more of the sense of losing track of time because you're enjoying yourself than of actually feeling like a lot of time had elapsed. He didn't want to check his watch or his phone, however, because that would require him to move, didn't want to do anything that might make the moment that seemed to have frozen around them end. Besides, did it really matter what time it was?

The crowds slowly thinned, though it was still far from empty, and Weller started to wonder whether Jane had fallen asleep against his shoulder. He leaned forward slightly, trying to get an angle where he could see her face. Sure enough, her eyes were closed. Since he was fairly sure that she wouldn't have closed her eyes to the scene around them voluntarily, he assumed that this meant that she'd fallen asleep. He sat back against the bench, unable to suppress a faint smile.

Since he was ten years old, he'd lived with a shadow over him that he'd felt like he could never quite escape, no matter how decent and honest and trustworthy a person he tried to be. It had been as though at that moment of his life when Taylor had disappeared, he had been cursed. No one had blamed him except himself, of course, but that didn't matter. The point was that no matter how he tried, it was always there, lurking at the edge of his consciousness, always blocking out the sun.

And yet somehow, all of a sudden, sitting on a park bench with Jane, in a darkened plaza in midtown under twinkling Christmas lights, in the midst of throngs of people, that shadow had simply… disappeared. Despite the fact that it was night, it was as if he was feeling the sun for the first time in more than twenty-five years. Not the heat of the sun, of course, and not the light that the sun provides to literally light the Earth… but the sun nonetheless.

It was a strange and completely foreign feeling, but at the same time it wasn't one that caused him panic or unease – even as unaccustomed as he was to processing his own emotions. It simply made sitting on that bench under the lights with Jane feel like something he was dreaming. Something that couldn't possibly be real.

He felt her stir slightly, and he expected her to pick up her head off of his shoulder as she woke up. Instead, the weight of her head shifted slightly against him, and he realized that she had turned her head so that her cheek was now pressed against his shoulder as she tried to turn far enough to look up at his face without actually sitting up. Her forehead was almost touching his chin, he noticed, and he knew that he could easily lean forward just a little…

Again, he was acutely aware of his actions, and of their consequences… in _theory_ , at least. Rationally, he knew that he shouldn't, but then again, if he operated solely rationally, he wouldn't have been here at all. If he'd been rational or objective, the way everyone around him wanted him to be, the way they _insisted_ that he needed to be, he would probably no longer be the lead agent on Jane's case. So was that enough to stop him?

Of course not.

This case had never been about being rational, not from the day that Taylor had gone missing. Quite the opposite. And he understood the reasons why agents were pulled from cases in which they had emotional investments – for their own safety and the safety of their fellow agents. He understood clearly that emotional involvements could easily lead a person to make poor decisions. He'd been an agent long enough to know all this backwards and forewords. And yet, when it came to him, he simply could _not_ accept the thought of acting any way but the way he had been acting up until now. If anything, he felt that he'd done a fairly good job keeping his emotions under control – all things considered – no matter what his coworkers would say about that.

So he did it – of course he did. What did it matter if he leaned forward an inch? It wasn't a big deal.

She was trying to look at him, still feeling drowsy from the little nap that she'd accidentally taken, and trying to twist her neck to look up at him from an angle that wouldn't require her to pick her head up from his shoulder completely, because honestly just then she was really comfortable there. This surprised her. She would've thought, given all the strangeness and emotionally charged nature of their "unconventional relationship," as Dr. Borden would probably say, that it would have felt awkward to wake up leaning against his shoulder. Had she leaned her head there on purpose in the first place, or had it just landed there when she'd fallen asleep? She honestly couldn't remember.

The only thing she knew was that she had woken up with her head on his shoulder… and she had liked the feeling. Not sure what look would greet her when she turned to look at him, she decided that for once she would risk it and just look and find out, without questioning the decision to do so. Would it be _safer_ to just lift her head and mumble an apology for sleeping on his shoulder – despite the fact that she wasn't sorry? Absolutely. Did she actually want to do that? Of course not. Was she _going_ to do that? Absolutely not.

The _only_ thing she'd had to depend on since she'd woke up with her memory erased was her gut instinct, and she'd gotten quite accustomed to following that instinct in place of acquired memories or experiences that she no longer had… and her gut told her that she shouldn't move her head off of his shoulder any more than she needed to, unless that was what she _wanted_ to do. Which it wasn't.

They managed to make eye contact, the same surprised half smile on both of their faces. Then he leaned forward just a little, barely moving at all, really, she thought, but enough to break the angle that allowed their eye contact. The scruff of his face brushed her forehead ever so slightly, taking her by surprise. It was an even bigger surprise when, a few seconds later, his chin came to rest against the same spot on her forehead, simply remaining there, pressed ever so gently against her skin. She was no longer at the right angle to see his face, but it didn't matter, because her eyes fell closed anyway.

A few seconds later, a pair of teenage girls ran by, screaming with laughter, and the commotion, though it lasted only a few seconds, jolted them both enough that their heads shot up and eyes forward to find the source of the noise. In their line of work, after all, hypersensitivity to sudden stimuli was an occupational hazard. They both chuckled slightly at the sudden start that had made them jump, looking at each other as if thinking, _Okay, and now what?_

"Are you ready to go?" he asked her. Her cheeks were a little bit pink, whether from the cold or… something else, he noticed.

"No," she told him, shaking her head and looking at him as if it should have been obvious. He smiled widely, one of the 'only for you' smiles that he may have been referring to the other day, one of the true, genuine smiles that others who were _not_ Jane rarely, if ever, saw from Kurt Weller. He didn't want to go yet either, but he also knew that they couldn't just sit there all night. Eventually, they would have to go.

But not yet.

 _You're going to pay for this in the morning you know,_ he told himself.

 _If by 'pay for this' you mean I'm going to be tired as fuck, then yes, that is quite possible_ , he replied in his head. _If by 'pay for this' you mean that I'm going to regret it, then no, you are absolutely wrong._

They were still sitting pressed together, and she was once again looking up at the lights in the trees around them, as she had been when they'd arrived. She turned towards him so that he could hear her better above the noises around them. "We should probably go soon, though, right?" she asked reluctantly. He squeezed the arm that still held hers clasped around it a little tighter, and replied, "Yes, I guess we should." She sighed heavily and laid her head back onto his shoulder, wishing that she could simply freeze time and stay right where they were at that moment. "Okay fine," she told him quietly, "we'll give ourselves until… 11:30. Okay?"

"Okay," he replied, then shifted so that he could pull the left sleeve of his jacket up slightly and look at his watch. "Bad news, Cinderella," he said with a chuckle. "It's 12:30."

 _12:30? How is that possible?_ she wondered. She knew how time worked, of course, but surely they hadn't been there for _that_ many hours…

"What? How long was I asleep?" she asked, turning her head and once again leaning her cheek against his shoulder, so that she was looking towards him, though not twisting her next for eye contact, as she had before.

"I'm not sure, I couldn't see your face," he said quietly. She noticed that since she'd turned towards him, he was almost speaking right into her ear. "It didn't _feel like_ it was very long, though."

"Well, obviously someone's been messing around with time, speeding it up or something. I wonder if there's a tattoo clue for that," she wondered aloud with a chuckle.

"After the past few months, it wouldn't surprise me at all," he murmured quietly, laughing along with her. His chin brushed against her forehead again, but this time didn't rest there. Even he could recognize that he was teetering dangerously close to the line. As much as he was willing to indulge his emotional side, his rational side had not completely left the building. As much as he could tell himself that he didn't care what anyone thought of his questionably "objective" behavior, he couldn't just abandon all pretense of good decision making. It just wasn't who he was. No matter how much he wanted it to be.

"We have to stand up now," he said softly into her ear. He squeezed her arm in his, which got her moving a little better than merely _telling_ her that they needed to stand up, and they managed to get to their feet slowly, without either disengaging their arms or falling over as they steadied themselves. They made their way back to the car, now very glad for Weller's VIP parking privileges. When they got there, Weller pressed the keyfab button several times to unlock the doors, and then reached out and opened the passenger side door with the hand that was not still wound up in her arm. She let go only grudgingly, clearly not wanting to, climbing tiredly into the seat, and he closed the door behind her.

He buckled himself into his own seat and started the car, navigating out into the now significantly emptier streets that led back to Jane's safe house. "That was pretty amazing," Jane said finally, a little while later. She'd leaned her head back on the seat and her eyes had closed, and Weller had assumed that she'd fallen asleep again. Maybe she had, but she was awake again now, in any case.

Weller smiled, glancing over at her for a second, and chuckled. "They have these walking tours that go all around that area at the holidays so people can see where the best displays of Christmas lights are," he told her. "Rockefeller Center is just one of the places the tour goes to. The tours don't start for a few more weeks, but Sarah dragged me along on one with a friend of hers last year, so my thought was to do something like that. Hit the highlights, at least."

Jane nodded sleepily. "Excellent idea," she told him with a smile. "Good thing there's nothing that says we have to see them all on the same day."

He shook his head, glancing at her again, and couldn't help but smile. She looked exhausted, but deliriously happy. "You're absolutely right," he told her. "Nothing at all."

She was quiet for a minute, then out of nowhere blurted out, "You know, you're really good at this." Her eyes were suddenly fixed on him intently.

He glanced back at her, amused, because now he was _sure_ she was delirious. _What's she even talking about?_ he wondered. He chuckled slightly, and asked, "Thank you, I suppose, but… Good at _what_?"

"I don't know… _this_. Whatever _this_ is…" she waved one of her fingers in the air, not pointing at anything specific, just sort of back and forth between the two of them.

 _Oh…_ _ **that**_.

It wasn't exactly as though he could claim ignorance. Well, he supposed that he could pretend to _her_ , though it probably wouldn't work, but at least _inside_ his head, it was glaringly obvious what _**that**_ was… not that there were words for it, of course, but it was just as she'd tried to explain. Whatever was between them, that was _**that**_. At least now he knew for sure that he wasn't imagining it.

He simply glanced at her and tried to smile, though he suddenly had to work at it a little.

To his surprise, she continued, her expression suddenly serious. "It isn't easy for you… I _know_ … But… You're really good at it."

While he didn't doubt that she meant this sincerely, he had a feeling that it was something that she would _not_ have said if she weren't as tired as she clearly was. Still, it didn't make it mean any less. On the contrary, it was possible that it meant more, since this seemed like the kind of thing that she would have kept hidden if she'd been able to… And that only made the fact that she'd come out and said it that much sweeter.

"Thanks," he replied. "You are, too, you know."

Her face clouded over suddenly and she shook her head, as if trying to dislodge a thought. She turned and looked straight ahead, away from him. "I don't think so," she said, "most of the time I'm just trying to hold on."

He smiled sadly at her then. _How can I say this and make her believe it?_ he wondered. It was worth a try, anyway. "You may not believe me, Jane," he told her softly, glancing at her and hoping that she _would_ believe him, "but that's what _most_ of us are doing most of the time. Some people are most lost than others, but most people I've met are desperately searching for _something_."

She did believe him, of course, even though for her it seemed hard to comprehend that the people she knew who seemed relatively well adjusted – even _Weller_ , with everything he'd been through – weren't much more together than she felt. But it was a comforting thought, she supposed, because that meant that really, she _wasn't_ as different from everyone else as her life made her feel.

Nodding slowly, she looked back at him and did her best to smile… but there was something about how good he was to her that, ironically, was a little scary to believe in. How could anything that good be true? She leaned her cheek against the seat so that she was facing him and closed her eyes, knowing that she was getting overly emotional in part because she was exhausted, and in part because of the heightened emotions of their outing that evening, and she didn't want to say anything else that she might regret the next day.

What felt like seconds later – and in reality was only a few minutes – Weller pulled up in front of her house. Not sure if she was awake or not, he got out and walked around the car, opening her door. The noise woke her up, and she turned to see him standing in the doorway.

"C'mon, time to go inside and go to bed," he told her.

For about half a second she thought about jokingly asking him if that was an invitation, absolutely not seriously, _of course_ , but she decided that it was a little late and they were both a little too tired to play that game right now. The thought had made her smile though, and she saw that he looked relieved, probably because of her little emotional outburst – which she know didn't ever remember very well anymore – a few minutes ago.

He stood back and she climbed down, stepping out of the way of the door and turning, but before she had a chance, he closed the door behind her. "I could've done that," she said, turning to face him and narrowing her eyes playfully, still smiling.

"I know," he said simply, his amusement with her reaction clear on his face. "That doesn't mean that you have to."

She just shook her head at him, and as she started walking, he turned so they were side by side. Without a second thought, she slipped her arm through his, just the way they had walked in midtown, for the short walk to her door. He was surprised, but certainly didn't mind. Weller nodded to her detail as they walked past their car. If they had any thoughts about the way the two of them were acting together, those thoughts were not apparent from looking at them.

At the door, this time Jane pulled her hand out of the crook of his arm without prompting, albeit slowly, and stepped up to the door to unlock it. She pushed it open just a crack and then turned back around, leaning tiredly against the door frame. Even as great a job as he had done keeping her company all the other days so far, he'd far outdone himself that day, and she wasn't sure that words could adequately express how grateful she was for his company, and for everything he did for her. Words, however, simply failed her.

Her smile was genuine, unlike the pained one that she'd given him in the car, and that told him a lot… Which was good, since she seemed to be too tired to say anything.

"Good night, Jane."

Her reply was the same as every other night, as far as he could remember. "Thanks, Weller. _Again_. Good night." She looked at him for a few more seconds as if she wanted to say something else, but didn't. Instead, she simply pushed herself up to stand upright and then turned, going through her door, flipping the light switch and bathing the small area inside her door in light. She glanced up and smiled at him through the quickly shrinking crack as the door closed, and then latched it after her.

Weller walked back to his car, once again nodding at Jane's detail and suddenly feeling every bit of the lateness of the hour. By now it was almost 1:30 am, and while he'd been up that late and much later many, many nights with no problem, this week of pushing himself to both work and hang out with Jane was slowly getting to him. Maybe he'd go to the office a little later the next day, or maybe he wouldn't go at all.

Come to think of it, there were lots of 'maybe's in life.


	8. Day 12 (Nightmares and Rain)

**Disclaimer: I do not own Jane or Kurt or Blindspot. Writing about them is simply the outlet for my obsession. And yet again today, my itchiness, and my very, very slowly disappearing poison ivy scars as well.**

 _A/N: I apologize for the delay in getting this chapter done. I had to finish my Blindspot season 1 binge rewatch before my kids got back from their grandparents' house, and it put me in quite an angsty frame of mind. So I didn't mean for this chapter to be so intense, but Jane was apparently just having a rough day… and I guess the fact that it's a little more intense balances out the lightheartedness of the previous one. I think there's one more chapter left after this, because_ _ **thank goodness**_ _the poison ivy is finally clearing up. Jane and I were really starting to think that it never would. Thanks for reading!_

It was Sunday, and when his eyes cracked open at the sound of his regular 5:00 am alarm, Weller made the executive decision that today of all days, he was going to sleep in for once. Unlike every single other day, most weekends included, he was not going into work unless some emergency forced him. Later, when he woke up at a more normal hour, he'd go see Jane, which would be a little earlier than she was expecting him. His team had been promised the day off anyway – though of course, Reade, Zapata and Patterson had been working significantly harder than he had in the past few weeks, and they were the ones who actually _deserved_ the day off. Never mind that. He was taking one too. He couldn't remember the last time he'd done that, if ever.

He knew that he was extra tired because ever since he'd taken Jane to see the Christmas lights in midtown on Thursday night, that was all she wanted to do in the evenings. They'd been out at least as late each night as had on Thursday, or later. No, today he would catch up on sleep. With his new plan formed, his eyes closed again almost immediately.

The next time he woke up, the sun was streaming through the blinds in his room. He couldn't remember the last time he'd woken up after the sun, and he had to admit that he liked the feeling. As much as there were advantages to getting up early, it was nice _not_ to do it once in a while. His head was foggy and he had to squint to read the numbers on the clock. Okay, now it _was_ time to get up.

The sounds of Sarah and Sawyer out in the living room filtered in to him – cartoons and excited chatter, along with the scent of another one of Sarah's failed attempts – because it _would_ be a failure, he knew – at making pancakes. He gave her all the credit in the world for trying, but she really was a terrible cook. Somehow, he'd inherited all of the skill in that department, and she had gotten none.

Getting up slowly and feeling rested for the first time in at least a week, he went through his usual routine. Brush teeth. Shower. Get dressed. According to the clock, it was just after 9:00 am when he finished, which meant that he was making great time. Emerging from his bedroom and bracing himself for the chaos of his family, he smiled at the two very surprised people looking at him. It was understandable, since they had undoubtedly figured that he'd been up and gone hours ago, as he usually was.

"Uncle Kurt!" Sawyer yelled excitedly. "You're here!" The boy made a beeline straight for him, and would have knocked him off balance with the enthusiasm of his hug if Weller hadn't been ready for him.

"Good morning, buddy," he said affectionately, tousling the curls on his nephew's head. "Where'd you think I was?"

"At work," Sawyer replied, as if it should have been obvious.

It _did_ make perfect sense, since most days at this time he _was_ at work. Sarah smiled at him, looking slightly guilty. "I hope we didn't wake you," she said. "He's right, we didn't know you were here."

He shook his head. "I was so tired, I decided that for once I'd actually sleep in," he assured her, "And I don't think anything short of a tank firing into my room would've woken me up." She smiled at that, and then appeared to remember something.

"Oh!" She exclaimed and turned around, walking back to the kitchen counter. "There's pancakes left over, if you want one." He knew they'd be just as terrible as usual, but at that moment it seemed cruel to say no. It was the thought that counted, after all.

"Uh, yeah, okay," he replied, trying to smile. _Be nice_ , he reminded himself. _You'll be out of here in a few minutes._ He decided that the extra sleep was making him for charitable than usual, because generally he just made fun of her pancakes.

"Hey Uncle Kurt, you wanna play a game?" Sawyer was standing in front of him with a deck of cards, beaming. With the crazy hours he always worked, he didn't see his nephew very much as it was… and now lately, not having been home almost at all because he'd been with Jane so much, he'd barely spent any time with him. It would delay his departure, yes, but he could spare a few minutes.

 _Apparently you're a sucker this morning, saying yes to everyone_ ,he told himself. But he was okay with that, because these were two of his favorite people in the world. To Sawyer, he said, "Sure, buddy. We just have to have a time limit. I've got to go in a little while."

"Okay..." the boy replied, not at all dissuaded. "What about… twenty minutes?" In Sawyer's experience, that seemed to be the most that his mom would agree to at a time.

"Perfect. Bring the cards up here to the counter." Kurt sat in one of the stools by the counter and Sarah put a pancake in front of him on a plate. She'd even added banana slices and syrup. "Thanks," he said as Sawyer began dealing the cards. There was no question what Sawyer wanted to play, because it had been the same game for months – the kid was a little bit obsessed.

" _War_ is still your favorite, huh?" Weller asked him. He could tell from the deliberate piles the boy was making, simply nodding his head in reply so that he didn't break his momentum. Now Weller was really glad that he'd thought to set a time limit to this game, because that kid could – and _had_ on more than one occasion – play that game for _hours_ and not get sick of it. Sarah watched the two of them as she cleaned up the chaos of breakfast, happy to see them spending time together. She knew that her brother worked hard, but Sawyer had missed his time with his Uncle Kurt. It had been a while since they'd had more than a few minutes together at a time.

By 9:30, pancake eaten and game promise fulfilled, Weller locked the door of his apartment and walked down the hall, headed for his car. He was glad to have spent a little time with Sarah and Sawyer, knowing that he didn't do enough of that, but he was also glad to be on his way to surprise Jane. He knew that she'd gotten in the habit of sleeping in, since it helped the part of the day where she couldn't go outside anyway pass by more quickly, and he wondered if she was even up yet. She was always up when he got there at lunch time, but… well, he'd soon find out.

It was still before 10:00 am when he arrived, nodded at her detail as usual, and knocked on her door. He wasn't concerned when she didn't answer, since he guessed that she was sleeping, so after knocking twice and waiting what he considered to be a reasonable few minutes, he used his own key. He still had mixed feelings about letting himself into her safe house, but Jane had been surprisingly unconcerned about the idea of him doing just that. She'd shrugged and told him, "I know you're not going to abuse it, so I don't mind. Besides, it's part of your job to be sure that I'm safe." As simple as that. In her position, he wasn't sure he would've been so comfortable with the arrangement.

He went inside and locked the door behind him, finding the house quiet. As he'd thought, she must still be asleep. Setting his jacket on the back of a chair, he was about to go into the kitchen and make coffee when he thought he heard something. He couldn't quite make out what the noise was, only that it had come from upstairs. "Jane?" he called, but there was no response. Immediately on high alert, he crept toward the stairs, straining his ears to hear anything that might give him a clue to what was going on. Twenty seconds passed, and then he heard the noise again. Was that _her_? It almost sounded like she was talking to someone. He heard it again. No, not quite like talking. What was going on up there?

Weller was good at staying calm under pressure, as you had to be to do the job that he did. It was probably nothing, after all. Still, being the conscientious FBI agent and concerned friend that he was, he had to make sure that she was okay. After all, her first safe house had been compromised, and relatively quickly, so there was nothing to say that it couldn't happen again. He found himself moving silently up the stairs, looking carefully around corners as he went.

Jane's bedroom door was ajar, and he pushed it open slightly to reveal… Jane, in her bed, asleep. He breathed a sigh of relief. She'd obviously been moving around a lot, as he could tell from the state of the twisted covers around her. He stood and watched her for a few seconds, feeling slightly uncomfortable about the fact that he was watching her sleep. He got the feeling that he should go back downstairs, but he was still trying to figure out what he'd heard… That was when the noise came again. It _was_ her _._ From the sound of it, she was having a nightmare, and he'd probably heard her half talking, half moaning in her sleep.

"No," she groaned quietly. "No… _don't._ " She looked like she was in pain, her face contorting sharply, and she moved quickly as if trying to avoid a danger that he couldn't see, but she could. He walked slowly toward the edge of her bed, wondering if he should wake her up. He hated to think of what might be happening in her head. Then again, he knew for a fact that Jane had lightning fast reflexes, and surprising her when she was in a highly agitated state like this might _not_ be the best idea. However, she continued to writhe, twisting in her bed, then whimpering as if something was hurting her… He couldn't just stand by and do nothing, even if nothing was _actually_ being done to her. In her mind, after all, it was.

"Jane," he said softly, hoping not to startle her. He knew that she hadn't heard him, however, because she didn't react. "Jane," he said again, louder this time. He was standing beside her bed now, and bent down slowly, reaching out a hand toward her shoulder. "Jane—"

At the second that his fingers made contact with her shoulder, she let out a piercing shriek, jerking herself away from him as hard as she could, launching herself halfway across the bed. Even knowing her reflexes, he was surprised at the speed and intensity of her reaction. Her momentum took her far enough across the bed that he was concerned that she would fall off onto the floor. He had been startled by her sudden, loud reaction, but only for a second. In the next instant he was leaning across the bed, reaching over as far as he could, trying to get even a loose hold on her, to somehow get her to wake up without hurting her or letting her hurt herself. Somehow, however, she was managing to move fast enough, thrashing hard, against any contact he managed to make with her. " _Jane_ ," he said, loudly now, trying to break through whatever was happening in her head. "It's me. _Wake up_!"

In the next instant she inhaled sharply and stopped moving, now suddenly and eerily silent. She was breathing hard, her eyes still closed, only a foot or so from where Weller had landed when he'd tried unsuccessfully to catch hold of her. "Jane," he said tentatively, trying to determine if she had finally started to wake up or not, and to predict her reaction. Her eyes slowly blinked open while her breathing slowed gradually. She just lay on her back in the middle of the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Her breath was shaky, he noticed, and her hands were balled up into fists. After kicking off his shoes, Weller scooted himself across the bed towards the middle to sit beside her.

"Hey," he said quietly, slightly concerned that she still hadn't acknowledged that he was there. As he settled himself right beside her, laying his left hand gently on her forehead and then smoothing back her tangled hair, tears started leaking out of her eyes and she started to shake. She looked at him, but didn't say anything. He could see that she recognized him, but there was still a faraway look in her eyes. "Jane, you're safe. You're okay. Alright? It was just a nightmare." He realized as he said it that she might not remember ever having one before, which could explain why it had seemed to terrify her so much.

He continued to talk to her soothingly, but instead of calming down, she seemed to shut down completely. She rolled onto her side, curling toward him and hunching herself into the tightest ball she seemed to be able to manage. It was hard to watch. She still hadn't spoken, and the longer this went on, the more concerned he became. He rubbed his hand across her back, which seemed to help slow down her now choked breathing ever so slightly. After a few more minutes curled into a ball, his hand still moving back and forth across her back, she slowly began to relax again, still on her side curled toward him, staring straight ahead – which at her eye level, was directly at one of his knees.

"I thought it was real," she whispered, her voice shaking. "It felt so real."

He went back to smoothing back her hair slowly, starting at her temple and working his way back. "That happens sometimes with nightmares. But it wasn't real. It was just a bad dream." She looked up at him sadly, shaking her head.

"No," she whispered. "It was… I was _there_."

"Where?" he asked quietly.

"I don't know… But I swear, I was..." A shudder ran through her whole body. "And there was…" she closed her eyes for a second, shaking her head. "I don't remember… but it was _horrible_. I had to get away…" She pulled herself a little closer to him.

"But it's over now, it's okay," he said in the same soothing voice, continuing to move his hand slowly from her forehead back over her hair. He wished there was something more he could do.

She took a few deep breaths and then slowly pushed herself up just enough to be sitting up, leaning heavily on one arm. Just doing that seemed to have taken all of her energy, because she suddenly looked like she was going to crumble again, and he was surprised when she simply let herself fall forward against his chest. He caught her, wrapping both arms around her tightly. Though she hadn't been able to describe anything that she'd seen, he couldn't help but wonder if her nightmare had been an actual nightmare, or a memory left over from the past that she didn't remember. In the past, some of her waking memories had seemed to really rattle her, which this obviously had as well. It could be random, of course, but it was still a possibility that it wasn't. If it _was_ a memory that was returning, then more of these nightmares could very well be in her future. He'd have to remember to encourage her to talk to Dr. Borden.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked, simply sitting and holding onto her. Her head shook against his chest, but she didn't answer. He could feel her shaking again, and it only made him hold on a little bit tighter to her. Trying in vain to think of something else he could do or say that would make her feel better, he couldn't come up with anything. So he just did exactly what he was doing – he sat and held onto her. Finally, the shaking had stopped and her breathing had once again returned to normal, and she let out a sigh.

She began lifting her head slowly off of where it had rested against his shirt for a while now, and he loosened his grip on her so that he could lean back enough to look down at her face. It was exactly as red and puffy and tear-stained as he would have expected from someone who'd just had the kind of breakdown that she had. Looking at him with a mix of embarrassment and confusion, she whispered, "Sorry."

He shook his head at her, surprised that she would be apologizing. "Nope, you don't get to be sorry for that, because that implies that it was somehow your fault," he told her. "You have nothing to be sorry for. I only wish I'd been here sooner."

Shaking her head, she looked back down slightly, away from his face. "It started in the middle of the night," she told him quietly. He has about to bring up how many hours ago _the middle of the night_ had been, and the fact that she hadn't called him, but she continued.

"I kept waking up, and in my head I was screaming, but maybe I wasn't _actually_ screaming… I don't know. I was half expecting my detail to come crashing in here, it was so loud in my head. But maybe it was only in there…" she said as if she was thinking out loud. "And just when I thought I'd never be able to get back to sleep, I'd pass out because I was so exhausted and the same thing happened again."

"How many times?" he asked her with concern. One of his hands was now rubbing slow circles on her back.

"I don't know… Five? Six? Seven? I really don't remember…"

He stopped and stared at her in disbelief. "Jane, why didn't you _call_ me?" he asked in disbelief.

"Call you because I had a _bad dream_?" she looked genuinely surprised that he would suggest such a thing.

"I believe the words I used were, 'If you need _anything_ ,' he reminded her. "And besides, that wasn't _one_ bad dream, was it?"

She pursed her lips and shook her head, looking up at him as if trying to figure something out. "I don't know why it just wouldn't stop… I don't… It was like someone was after me, or…"

"It doesn't matter why," he told her. "It's all over now." She looked away again, shaking her head as if she was about to argue.

Just then, her stomach rumbled loudly. It _was_ now after 10:30, after all. They both chuckled at the noise, and she seemed to relax a little more. "You should have some breakfast," he told her, glad to finally see a smile on her face, even a small one.

"A shower first, then… yes. And… coffee," she replied, sounding a little more like herself, though still definitely… off. He smiled at the last part, as though she somehow thought he'd forget to make coffee if she didn't mention it. Though he nodded, he didn't let go of her, simply continued looking at her intently.

"Are you okay?" he finally asked. She had just leaned her head back down against what was now a large wet spot just below his shoulder, where she'd been crying not long before.

"Better now," she said in a small voice. This only made him hold on tighter to her again.

There was something about Jane, about the way she could be so strong and so fragile at the exact same time, that he couldn't understand. She could take out four people coming after her with knives almost simultaneously, but something like a nightmare had terrified her out of her mind. It meant that he trusted her implicitly to have his back – she'd already saved his life more than once – and yet at the same time he wanted nothing more than to protect her, just like he did at that moment.

"Come on," he said after a few more minutes, "you go and take a shower, and I'll go make you something. Starting with coffee, of course. Okay?" He released her slightly once again, looking down at her hopefully. It took a few seconds, but she nodded hesitantly, and his left arm slowly dropped from where it had been around her, while his right hand moved across her back to her right shoulder, on the far side of her, and he nudged her to scoot around the left side of him to the edge of the bed. Once there, she put her feet down on the floor and held onto the side of the mattress with both hands, looking down as if she was gathering her strength to stand up. He dropped his hand from her shoulder and turned himself the rest of the way around, now sitting beside her and watching her carefully.

Finally, she glanced over at him and, with what appeared to be great effort, forced the corners of her mouth upward into a small smile that she obviously didn't feel. Seeing her do that was almost worse than seeing her look so upset, because he knew that it was solely for his benefit, and that she didn't actually mean it. She lifted herself slowly off of the bed, walking to the bathroom without a backward glance. He stood up and retrieved his shoes, pausing at the doorway of her bedroom, looking at the now closed bathroom door for a few seconds, reminding himself that now that she was awake, she would be fine. Besides, that was what he was there for, after all… to make sure she was okay and keep her company. Boy, was he glad that he'd come over early today.

Going back downstairs and leaving his shoes by the front door, he went to the kitchen and began making the promised pot of coffee and a batch of chocolate chip pancakes. In his experience, those were the cure for almost _anything_ – at least with Sawyer. When she came down the stairs a little while later, looking dazed and tired, she sat herself at the counter without a word and simply watched him flipping the pancakes over on the griddle, her expression blank. He smiled at her encouragingly, pouring her coffee and doctoring it the way she liked it, then walked over and set it in front of her. Again, the corners of her mouth moved ever so slightly, as if she were pushing them to form a smile, but with only very limited success.

"Thanks," she whispered, pulling the mug toward her across the counter and staring into the dark liquid as if it held secrets that she could learn if she only looked hard enough.

"You're welcome," he replied, watching her carefully. He took out a plate and flipped a pancake onto it, squeezing a thin trail of syrup across it before walking over to put the plate in front of her, followed quickly by silverware. This time, the corners of her mouth once again moved almost imperceptibly but she said nothing. He transferred the other two pancakes that had been on the pan with hers to a plate on the counter, turning off the heat under the pan. Taking the last three tiny pills out of one bottle in front of him, one tiny pill out of another bottle, and a large pill out of a third bottle, he poured her some orange juice and set the five pills and the glass near her plate.

"One antibiotic, one for itching, and the last day of the steroids," he said. "Looks like you might need a few more days' worth, though." Looking at what was left of the rash on her arms, he could recognize that it was looking significantly better. Even the bigger clusters of what had been blisters were now much smaller, though the clusters on her wrists were still angry enough looking that he was fairly sure that the doctor would refill her prescription when she went back the following day.

She was now eating slowly, glancing sadly at her arms between bites. What had been one of the big blisters on her right arm – though not the biggest one – just above her elbow – had flaked off completely and left only a large circle of dry, pink skin in its wake. The other, smaller ones were still in the process of flaking off. Only the two more serious clusters, one by each of her wrists, were still significant looking. She shrugged and nodded in response to his words. While still uncomfortable when the water of the shower hit them, and still quite itchy despite their fading appearance, for the first time in what felt like a long time her poison ivy was actually _not_ the thing bothering her the most. She couldn't decide what was worse, the way she felt just then, or the poison ivy at its worst.

Taking his plate and silverware in one hand, and his coffee in the other, Weller walked around the corner from the kitchen and came to sit beside her. She'd swallowed her pills with the juice he'd given her, and had eaten about three-quarters of her pancake before laying down her silverware, pushing her plate away from her slightly, and now sat sipping her coffee, staring blankly into the kitchen. Weller couldn't deny that he was worried about her. She'd be okay, of course, but whatever she'd seen in her dream, even if she couldn't remember _what_ it had been, had obviously shaken her pretty badly. He kept glancing over at her as he ate, but she just kept staring into the kitchen.

They sat in silence for what felt like a long time. Now finished eating, Weller sipped his coffee, still watching her and wondering what, if anything, he could do for her. Should he just let her sit and think for a while, or should he try to distract her? He honestly didn't know what was more helpful. When he'd finished his coffee, he stood up and took his empty dishes back into the kitchen. After depositing them in the dishwasher he turned to look at Jane, who was doing exactly as she had been when he'd left his seat beside her: occasionally sipping her coffee, but mostly staring into space.

He attempted to put himself directly in her line of sight, leaning forward against the counter and trying to meet her eyes. It took some effort, but she got him to focus on her. "You look tired," he told her sympathetically. It wasn't a criticism, it was an observation. She just nodded blankly. No doubt she _was_ tired, but that didn't seem to be the worst of her problems..

Reaching forward, he pulled her plate across the counter towards him, disposing of the rest of the pancake and putting the dishes in the dishwasher with his own. "More coffee?" he asked her from across the room.

"No, thanks, I'm finished," she replied quietly, sitting up and sighing heavily. She left her nearly empty cup on the counter, stood up and walked to the window, where she peered out through the blinds. The earlier sun had given way to gray clouds, almost as if it knew what kind of day she was having. Staring out at the street, at the occasional cars going by, but not really seeing any of it, she suddenly had the feeling that she didn't have the energy even to stand there and stare at nothing. Letting go of the blinds, she turned and walked slowly back to the blanket fort in the middle of the room, crouching down to crawl in and then quickly curling up on her side, laying on her pillow there.

Weller wondered for a second if he should give her some space. However, knowing Jane as he did, his instincts told him the answer to that question was no. He'd walked out of the kitchen and had been watching her from the far side of the living room, and now he walked quietly across the room to the blanket fort as well, ducking down to get to "his" side, and sitting down beside her. She was curled up into a ball on her side again, facing his pillow, which sat in its usual spot, about a foot from hers.

"Maybe you should try and take a nap," he suggested. But to his surprise, she shook her head quickly, as if the very idea frightened her.

 _Poor thing_ , he thought, _she's exhausted... But having a nightmares, of course she doesn't want to sleep._ He scooted himself down into place so that he was laying down on his side facing her, so he could be at her eye level, moving his pillow closer to hers and propping himself up on his elbow. She was trying desperately to keep her eyes open but failing pretty badly, and every time they fell closed again she jerked suddenly and they flew open once more.

"Jane," he said quietly, since they were so close together, "you can go to sleep, okay? I'm not going to let anything bad happen to you." She nodded, and he could've sworn he saw a few tears escaping from her eyes again. She ducked her head down, pulling her chin toward her chest and pulling more tightly into herself, and he watched her, thinking that he hadn't seen her look so scared since the first day they'd met. He reached over and tucked her hair behind her ear, withdrawing his hand again slowly.

Imagining that he'd be lying there for a while, especially if she actually fell asleep, he pushed his right arm under his pillow, the way he often slept, laying all the way down on his pillow. After the full week that she'd now been on the stronger dose of Prednisone, he had come to the conclusion that the poison ivy rash he could still see on her skin couldn't still be as contagious as it had been, if it still was at all. Even more importantly than that, just then he simply didn't care whether it was or not. Her hands were pushed together near her chin, which was tucked down towards her, and he reached over, finding her right hand in his left, laying it on the floor between them and covering it with his.

She tensed slightly in surprise, but then relaxed. From listening to her breathing, which was much slower and more even now, he thought that she might even have fallen asleep. At least he hoped so. He had a fleeting thought that he might just fall asleep too, as comfortable as he was just then.

It was about an hour later, when they were both jolted awake by a loud booming noise outside. Weller was already sitting halfway up by the time he was fully conscious, his reflexes having been trained over many years to react quickly. Jane was slower to sit up, though the booming was long enough that it continued even after her eyes snapped open in fear and she'd pushed herself up to a sitting positon.

The noise had sounded like thunder, but wasn't it too late in the year for a thunderstorm? He supposed crazier things had happened to him recently than unseasonable thunder.

"That was just thunder," he told her soothingly. "There must be a storm nearby. It's pretty unusual for this time of year."

"It goes with lightning, right?" she asked, sitting up groggily and looking slightly worried.

"Usually, yes…" he admitted, finding it interesting that she could remember the concepts of thunder and lightning but, judging from her frightened reaction, she could not remember the feeling of experiencing them.

Just then, thunder boomed again and she flinched sharply, looking as if she was going jump out of her skin. Without thinking about it, she leaned toward him. All she knew was that she always felt safer with him than anywhere else.

"It's okay," he assured her, "scoot over here." Once again he put both arms around her, the same way he had upstairs. "It's just a storm." She nodded hastily, hoping that those words would somehow implant themselves in her brain and she'd stop being so afraid, but so far without success. Just then a bright, distinct flash of lightning cutting through the sky followed a split second later by a sharp flash of light from somewhere in the distance on the ground, then another loud noise, more like a _bang_ , and then the house went dark and eerily still.

Now Jane was ever tenser than she had been, of course. "That looked and sounded like lightning just hit the ground and blew a transformer, maybe…" he explained. "So the power's out. But that's okay, blanket forts are very good shelters during a storm," he said, hoping to convince her.

"Oh, yeah?" she asked unsurely, looking forward to the explanation for that one.

"Absolutely," he told her, still holding onto her. "I think it has something to do with the cozy factor. Remember, the first day we built the fort, and I told you that coziness was an essential element?" She nodded, remembering him saying exactly that. "Well, coziness is always extra comforting during stressful times, like during a storm. So whatever is happening outside of the fort doesn't matter as much, because _inside_ the fort, we're fine, you know?"

A smile crept slowly across her face. It was the logic of small children, and yet, how could she argue with it? She couldn't – it actually made perfect sense. She leaned her head forwards onto his shoulder, suddenly feeling strangely calm, and once again, sleepy. But then thunder boomed and she flinched again. It was slightly more distant now, followed a few seconds later by lightning. She chuckled nervously at her own reaction.

"You're having a little bit of a rough day, aren't you?" he asked her.

"Maybe a little," she sighed, trying to understand why she felt so much safer with him so nearby.

Lightning flashed again outside the window, and her head whipped around to look. The thunder was only a few seconds later, suddenly closer again, and she felt Weller's hold on her tighten slightly. She glanced back him and tried to smile.

"How long do you think the power will be out?" she asked nervously. It was mid-day, so it wasn't exactly _dark_ outside, they could still _see_ … But something about the darkness in her house was unsettling.

"It's hard to say," he replied. "It depends what happened. Has it gone out here before, that you know of?" She shook her head. "My guess is, it'll be back on soon," he told her, trying to calm her anxiety.

Just then they heard what sounded like a _whoosh_ ing sound outside, and then a constant drum of what he imagined was raindrops, though he couldn't see the window from where they were, but if he had to guess, he'd say that the sky had finally opened up.

"What's that?" she asked curiously.

"I'm guessing that's the rain to go with all that thunder and lightning," he told her, suddenly getting an idea. "Let's go look." He reluctantly released his hold on her, then stood up and reached out a hand to help her up, ducking down so they could step out of the fort. Once they were both upright, he turned toward the front door and indicated that she should follow him.

"Where are we possibly going in all that rain?" she asked, now able to see through the window how hard it was coming down.

"Not far at all," he replied mysteriously, "Come on."

"Don't we need shoes, or a jacket, or _something_?" she asked, completely confused by Weller at that moment.

"Okay, a jacket is probably a good idea," he replied, remembering how chilly it was outside today. He walked back to the chair where his jacket was sitting, pulling it on, took hers off the hook and handed it to her. She was still standing outside the blanket fort, looking at him strangely, wondering what he was doing. "Come on. I promise, you'll like it."

He opened the front door and stepped into the door frame, standing still as a few tiny droplets blew against his face but for the most part, the rain didn't reach him. Though it was coming down hard, it was blowing from behind the house, so the wind was taking the water away from the open door. Jane hesitated behind him, he noticed, and he looked over his shoulder at her, grinning.

"Come here." He motioned to her to come stand with him, and she stepped forward slowly. The doorframe, of course, wasn't quite made for two people to stand in at once, so he turned slightly towards her to give her more space to stand. She moved into the place he'd created for her, slightly in front of him, appearing suddenly self-conscious at their proximity. Here was the dance again.

She wasn't sure where to stand, really. There wasn't much room at all in the doorframe next to Weller – she was really more in front of him then beside him, and she was suddenly very aware of how close together they were standing – if she'd leaned back even a little, she'd be leaning on him. Of course, it wasn't as though she hadn't already cried on his shoulder – literally – that morning at least once… No, maybe that was _why_ she suddenly felt awkward standing there so close to him.

As she looked out into the gloomy afternoon, however, listening to the steady pounding of the rain, she began to relax again. Hearing movement beside her, she turned to see that Weller was now sitting on the floor in the small space, his back leaned against the doorframe behind him, one foot inside the house and one foot just barely on the front porch, probably slightly damp.

"Much better," he declared. "There's just something about sitting and listening to the rain… without actually being out in it. Getting all wet is not as fun when it's this cold."

Sitting seemed like a much better option than standing, but she hesitated. There wasn't much space left. Instead, she stood and leaned against the doorframe on her right, quickly losing herself in thought, as she had been all morning. Despite not being able to remember her dream from the night before, it was still haunting her.

Weller watched her standing indecisively as she tried to decide what to do. She looked tense, and he wondered if she was retreating back inside herself again. That nightmare she'd had had really done a number on her.

"Are you okay, Jane?" he asked after she'd been standing and staring out at the rain for almost five minutes. She turned and looked at him as if she'd forgotten that he was there.

"What? Oh… yeah, I just…" she trailed off, suddenly closing her eyes against the feeling, not so much any particular image, from her dream. It had washed over her out of nowhere once again. Forcing herself to look back at him again, she gave him the closest thing to a smile she could muster, even though she knew that it would _not_ be convincing. "I'm fine."

He scoffed quietly and shook his head. "No, you're not," he observed. "You look like you're going to run straight out into the rain and never stop."

A pained smile appeared on her face. "That almost sounds appealing," she replied quietly.

"Why?" he asked, honestly curious.

She sighed heavily. "I don't know… I just…" She exhaled loudly, closing her eyes in frustration and pulling her arms tightly across her chest. Somehow she swore she could feel his eyes on her, and when she opened her eyes again, slowly, she saw that she had been correct. The look in his eyes told her, somehow, that he understood that feeling all too well. There was something the slightest bit comforting about that.

"Well if you're _not_ gonna run out into the rain and never stop, which I have to be honest… I'm hoping you won't, since then I'd have to chase you… Why don't you sit down?" He was starting to wonder if he'd done something to make her uncomfortable all of a sudden.

"Why would you have to chase me?" she asked, baffled. Then she realized why. "Part of the job, huh?"

He looked at her as if to say _Do you really not get it?_ and shook his head slowly. "I'm not going to deny that the FBI would prefer to be able to protect you," he told her, "but that's not why." _And you should know that_ , he added in his head. "And yes, honestly, I'd prefer not to have to go out in that rain at all. Even with an umbrella, you wouldn't make it as far as the car without getting soaked. But mainly…" He looked down – what was that look, anyway? Embarrassment? – and shrugged. "I just hope you don't." He looked like he wanted to say more, but he didn't.

Feeling as though something clicked in her head, she was unable to bite back an awkward smile. _You know very well that you're important to him, even if you're too scared to believe it,_ she told herself. Without further hesitation, she lowered herself slowly to the floor. The remaining space not already occupied by Weller was pretty limited, and she kneeled for a second while reconsidering her options. Kneeling wasn't very comfortable, of course. She looked over her shoulder at him sheepishly, because once again, in order to fit in the space remaining, she was going to have to scoot much closer to him. Not that that was a _problem_ , but…

She wondered if it was obvious what she was thinking as she looked at him, trying to ask the question without actually saying anything. He looked back at her innocently as if to say, _What?_ She had a feeling that he knew exactly what was going through her mind, however. He always seemed to, so why would now be any different? As a matter of fact, he looked pretty damn amused at the moment. _Shut up, Weller,_ she told him in her mind, her eyes narrowing slightly at him.

"Scoot over here," he told her with a knowing smile. She had gotten herself worked up about something, that much he could see. Slowly, she slid off of her knees towards him on her left, tucking her feet around behind her on her right. It wasn't that she purposely leaned into him, exactly, it just seemed to happen. There wasn't really anywhere else to _be_ in that doorway. Still, she seemed tense, even as she smiled hesitantly at him.

 _You're being silly,_ she thought. _Stop overthinking it._

His legs were bent, and his arms rested casually on his knees. Without giving it any thought, his right hand moved to her upper back, where it sat gently, his fingers moving just a little. It took a while, but she seemed to relax again. The gesture was a strange mix; while soothing, it somehow also sent electricity through her veins. They sat there for what felt like a long time, looking out at the rain, until it had almost stopped. "The sound of the rain is so… hypnotic," she said, staring out into the distance. Neither of them had talked for quite a while. His hand still rested on her back.

"Yep, it is," he agreed.

"So… that was the point, huh?" she asked, leaning back slightly to look up at him. He just smiled back at her, glad that she seemed calmer now, less flustered. Less troubled.

Leaning back against him again, she closed her eyes and inhaled slowly, then exhaled just as slowly. It was possible that she would never understand why he had this effect on her. Leaning against him like that, she simply felt… at peace.

"Are you hungry?" he asked her, talking into the hair on the top of her head. She wasn't sure why, but she found it funny.

"Not really," she replied, knowing before she asked what his answer was going to be. "Are you?" Then, thinking about what she was saying, she chuckled. "What am I saying? Of _course_ you are… What time is it, anyway?"

He just shrugged. "Don't know," he told her.

She chuckled. "Let me guess… it doesn't matter?"

"Now you're catching on," he told her. Shaking her head against him, she just laughed. "You ready to go back in?" he asked reluctantly. It wasn't that he wanted to move, but they couldn't just sit there indefinitely.

She'd finally gotten comfortable, and she was fine right where she was, actually, but she supposed they couldn't sit there with the door open all day… "Wait… Weren't you the one who worked so hard to get me to sit down in the first place?" she asked, pretending to be confused.

"Cute," he grinned at her, as she stifled a smile. "Come on, up." She sat up, pretending to pout, pushing herself slowly to her feet so he had room to stand up as well. They walked back inside the house, finally closing the door against the chilly air outside. They kept their jackets on, since the house was no longer any warmer than outside ( _Leaving the door open when the electricity was off was maybe not the best idea_ , Weller thought in hindsight, _since that meant the heat was off as well…_ ) and Jane took a seat on the couch, folding one leg under her and looking at the puzzle, which was now nearly complete. Weller went on to the kitchen. She heard noises as he rustled about in there, but she didn't pay much attention. He was the one who was hungry, after all.

A few minutes later he set a plate of chocolate chip cookies on top of the nearly finished puzzle in front of her, sitting down close beside her and picking up a cookie before leaning back. She looked from him to the plate of cookies in confusion. "Where did _those_ come from?" she asked him. _What other food does he_ _ **have**_ _in my kitchen that I don't know about?_ she wondered to herself.

Completely amused, he looked her in the eye and said, "The kitchen." He even managed to keep a straight face for a few seconds, then draped his arm over the back of the couch behind her and grinned, obviously proud of his silly joke. She just stared at him and shook her head, rolling her eyes.

"Anything else in there I should know about?" she asked him, raising her eyebrows questioningly. This guy was simply too much. He just shrugged.

"I dunno," he said, leaning forward to get another cookie. "Maybe one day you'll be allowed back in there and you'll find out." Narrowing her eyes at him playfully, she shook her head, reaching forward for a cookie before leaning back against the couch, conscious that her shoulders were leaning on his arm. She took a bite, and then, because she knew that being allowed back in her kitchen had become contingent on her poison ivy healing, pulled up the sleeves of her shirt to have a look. She held up her arms so they could both examine the state of her forearms, the palms of her hands facing up to expose what still remained of her rash.

"Well," she sighed, "Day 12 isn't showing quite as much progress as I'd hoped it would…"

"It's better, though," he said encouragingly, leaning over her shoulder for a better look. Compared to Day 7, when she'd last been to the doctor, the difference was significant. And yet, what remained of her reaction was still quite serious looking. Anyone who didn't know what the reaction was caused by would probably have guessed that it was something far more serious than poison ivy.

"I guess so," she agreed reluctantly. "I'm just so _tired_ of it…" Without thinking about it, she laid her head on his shoulder, pulling her sleeves back down and resting her hands in her lap.

"Can't do anything about it though, can we?" he asked gently.

She shook her head slowly. Would this ever end? Because it certainly didn't feel like it!

"Does it still hurt?" he asked, curious. She hadn't complained much at all. Really, she'd been remarkably stoic about it.

"No," she said, shaking her head again. "Not anymore. It's itchy again now, because they're drying out… but it's a lot better than it was, I guess." She knew she shouldn't complain. She hadn't been shot or had anything actually _serious_ happen, after all… it just seemed so _stupid_ to be sidelined for almost _two weeks_ and counting because of a stupid allergic reaction.

He leaned forward slightly, shifting Jane forward as well, took two cookies off the plate, then sat back again. He handed her one, which she took with a smile as she leaned back against his shoulder, and he bit into the other one.

"Seriously, where'd you get these?" she asked him again.

"What makes you think I didn't make them?" he asked, pretending to be offended.

"Well, because I've been with you most of the time, except for when you've been asleep or at work," she told him matter-of-factly.

"Who said I'd been at work?" he asked, this time pretending to be confused.

Her left hand reached out and slapped him lightly on the chest. "Shut up, don't even try and say you haven't been going to work in the mornings," she told him. "Because I know you have."

"Okay, okay," he chuckled. "I got them on my last trip to the grocery store. Sometimes you just need cookies. And I think I was hungry when I was there…"

"That's not surprising, somehow," she replied seriously, nodding.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," he said with a grin.

Before she could stop herself, she was fighting to stifle a long yawn behind her hand. He raised his eyebrows at her, smiling cautiously. "Tired?"

"No." She shook her head, but smiled. They both _knew_ she was tired.

"You know, there's a difference between 'I'm not tired,' and 'I'm determined not to fall asleep to avoid having nightmares,'" he told her. "You can only stay awake by willpower alone for so long."

She lifted her head off of his shoulder and turned around to look at him. She had a strange look on her face – a mix of frustration, determination, annoyance and appreciation. He smiled sympathetically. She didn't want to hear it, but it was obvious to him. Not wanting to get her upset again, he decided to drop it for the time being.

Finally consulting his watch, he realized why the house was looking darker and darker by the minute. "It's already almost 5:00," he said in surprise. "How'd it get so late?"

"Let me guess… time to eat again?" she asked, shifting on the couch so that she was sitting facing him, a look of amusement on her face.

"Absolutely. And we may as well get out of here and find a place that actually has electricity, because we won't be cooking anything without it. And, you know… it's chilly in here," he said. It was funny, she'd almost forgotten about the electricity going out. When the lighting and thunder had stopped, she'd just stopped noticing it, despite the gloomy of the darkened living room. _Because you can only stress about so many things at once_ , she told herself.

"Sounds good to me," she said, already up and putting on her shoes. If he didn't know better, he'd say that she was trying to prove how _not tired_ she was. Bundled back up against the damp, chilly evening, they headed out in search of food and electricity, settling on a little pizza place about ten minutes away that had both.

They took their time with their outing, hoping that by the time they got back, the power would be back on. To their relief, when they got back at about 7:30, the block was once again illuminated by street lights. It seemed like a good sign, and when they opened the front door of Jane's safe house, they were greeted by a room bathed in warm light, also significantly warmer, since the heat was now working as well. Jane breathed a sigh of relief that the power was back on. One less thing to worry about.

Weller didn't intend to stay late, but he did intend to have a talk with Jane before he left about not calling him when she needed something, even in the middle of the night. They walked through the door and hung up their jackets, and Jane wasn't halfway across the room before she let out a yawn. When it had passed, she looked directly at Weller, knowing what he was going to say. She crouched down into the blanket fort and picked up her book from the floor, then came back out and stood up, walking over to where he stood watching her.

"I know what you're going to say," she began.

"Oh yeah?" he asked in amusement. "What am I going to say?" He crossed his arms in front of him and smiled. This would be interesting.

"That I'm exhausted, and I need to get some sleep. And if I have a nightmare, or a bunch of them, then I'm supposed to call you. Even though it's silly to be an adult and call someone because you have a nightmare."

He nodded thoughtfully. "Well, I was going to say some of that, yes. I know that you're exhausted. That's not much of a secret. That you need sleep? That's been obvious since the moment you woke up this morning." He thought back to when she'd woken up from her nightmare, hating to think of her going through that again that night. "That you're supposed to call me if you need anything… yes. I told you that a long time ago, and I meant it. I came over for the poison ivy, didn't I?" He took a step forward and dropped his arms to his sides. He was standing closer to her now, looking at her intensely as he so often did, and she had to look up at a sharper angle to meet his eyes… which she was avoiding having to do, at the moment.

She rolled her eyes. "Weller, I'm fine. It's _fine_. I'm going to get ready for bed, and then I'm going to read for a while. I think that'll help me fall asleep."

"The problem wasn't falling asleep, though, was it? At least not at first, right? Wasn't the problem the _staying_ asleep part?" She met his eyes then, looking fairly miserable. _Just let it go_ , she begged him silently.

"Weller, I'm fine. I promise to call you if I need something, okay?" She could tell from the look on his face that he didn't believe her – which made sense since she knew that she probably wouldn't if she could avoid it. She didn't _want_ to be someone who couldn't deal with something as stupid as a bad dream by herself. Sometimes it was comforting, but just then it was annoying that he could see right through her that way. Sighing heavily, she looked and felt defeated. "What do you want me to do?" she asked. _What more can I say?_ she thought.

He turned and walked to the kitchen without a word, coming back a minute later with one large pill and a glass of water. "First, take your antibiotic," he said kindly. She swallowed it, and drank the water. If not for him, she would probably have forgotten at least half of her medicine in the past few weeks, if not more. He took the glass back from her and set it on the counter. Walking back to her slowly, he stopped just in front of her again. "Jane, you know I'm not trying to give you a hard time, right?" he asked in a low voice. She nodded and ducked her head. _Of course I know that._ Looking back up at him, she saw the concern in his eyes.

"Come on," he said, indicating the direction of the stairs. Apparently he was sticking around to make sure she went to sleep. He could be so infuriating sometimes… infuriatingly nice. She sighed and gave up on the idea of arguing with him. Really, she was too tired to do that anyway.

" _Bossy_ ," she said tiredly.

He smiled, shaking his head as he followed her up the stairs, like he had the first few days of the whole poison ivy thing. She disappeared into the bathroom for a few minutes, and when she came out, despite the fact that it wasn't even 8:00, she looked like she was already half asleep. Then again, she hadn't really slept the night before, so it made sense. She sat down on the edge of the bed, where she'd sat that morning – had it really only been that morning? – and stared at the floor, her hands clutching the mattress on either side of her.

He had what he thought was a fairly good guess about what was wrong – because it was obvious that _something_ was – and he sat down next to her. "Jane, what's wrong?" he asked.

She didn't try to deny that anything was wrong that time, and he was glad. Exhaling loudly, she looked up at him for a few seconds, her eyes as expressive as they always seemed to be, as if she was doing her best to tell all of the secrets that she didn't even know about herself without saying a word. "I don't know how to make it stop," she told him finally.

There had always been something about Jane. Yes, it probably had a lot to do with her being Taylor, but even _before_ he'd had the idea that she was Taylor, the vulnerable side of her had brought out the protective side of him. He simply couldn't see her like this and not do _something_ to try to make it right. He laid his hand on top of hers, the one that was holding onto the mattress between them.

"It's going to be okay," he said, not sure of what else to say. The "it" that she didn't know how to stop had to do with her nightmares, he knew, and most likely also with exhaustion, at this point, and of course, the even more obvious issue of the glaring blank space where her memory of her life should be. He was constantly amazed that she functioned as well as she did.

"We're going to figure it out, okay?" He tried to smile at her reassuringly. "And I _know_ I keep saying it, but you _do_ need to sleep," he told her. "Which means," he paused, wondering if he was about to have any luck of not, "you need to at least get into the bed. Think you can manage that much? Just take it one step at a time."

She nodded slowly, and he stood up, getting out of her way as she moved back the covers and climbed in. It was a comfortable bed, she'd always thought – not that she knew anything else to compare it to – so the simple act of climbing under the covers by itself shouldn't be a cause of stress… except that her mind automatically jumped to the nightmares that she'd had the night before, and made the direct connection between the two.

Looking down at her, he was pretty sure he knew the answer to his next question, but he asked her anyway to be absolutely clear. "Do you want me to keep you company for a while, or do you want me to let you get some sleep?"

She had every intention of insisting once again that she was fine, than he should just go home. The only thing left to do was to force the words out of her mouth. Unfortunately, she couldn't manage to do it. The thought of being left alone with the demons in her head, after the previous night, stopped her from saying anything. She bit her lip, feeling betrayed by her mouth for not speaking.

He watched the change come over her face, and, as usual, somehow he didn't need her to use words for him to know the answer to the question. Nodding at her with a reassuring smile, he walked around to the end of the bed and then crawled up to the top beside where she was laying with her head on the pillow, watching him carefully. The fact that he had done it as if it was absolutely no big deal, like it had happened before, was what surprised her even more than the fact that he'd just made himself comfortable on her bed in the first place.

"It's not bad, pretty comfortable," he said, slightly impressed, again, acting like there was nothing unusual about laying there next to her. Everything about Jane was an exception to any existing rules, after all, and he'd just decided to go with his instincts. "Maybe even a little nicer than I'd have expected for an FBI safe house."

She cracked a smile then, just a little one, but it was something. He took that as his opening, seeing that he could still get through to her, and began chatting away about all manner of silly things, mostly stories of his – _their_ – childhood in Pennsylvania. He told some stories that she was part of, and some that she wasn't. Some that were funny, some that were serious. And others about later years; high school, and even working for the FBI. He had some funny stories about Zapata, Reade and Patterson when he'd first met them.

He felt like he'd been talking for a long, long time, glancing around the room as he talked, his eyes coming back to her every so often. Finally, he happened to look at her and see that her eyes were closed and she was breathing evenly, turned slightly towards him. There was even a slight smile on her face.

There were several options, and he'd been weighing them for a while. He'd first thought about just staying until she fell asleep and then heading home. However, despite the fact that her phone was plugged in beside the bed, he was fairly certain that she wouldn't call him if she woke up with more nightmares, no matter what she'd promised. She was unbelievably stubborn.

He'd thought about getting up and going downstairs to the couch, but really, what was the point? It was supposedly the "right" thing to do, but in this case it seemed counterintuitive. She'd wanted company, after all, and he knew from experience that somehow he was able to calm her down when she couldn't calm herself down. He wanted to be sure she at least got through tonight without a repeat of the previous night. Besides – as if he really needed _more_ justification – if he was anywhere else but here he'd be worried about her anyway.

 _Oh, for God's sake! Just admit that you like being right where you are, and shut up and go to sleep_ , the voice in his head piped up.

He was a little surprised by this revelation, but he couldn't exactly argue. All of his "logical" arguments were valid, of course… but the voice in his head _did_ also have a point. And so instead of thinking about it any further, he glanced at Jane one more time, fast asleep a few feet away, closed his eyes, and was asleep himself within a matter of seconds. If she needed him, he'd be there.


	9. Day 13 (Pillows) & Day 19 (Central Park)

**Disclaimer: I do not own Jane or Kurt or Blindspot. Writing about them is simply the outlet for my obsession. And yet again today, my remaining slight itchiness, and my finally faint poison ivy scars as well.**

 _A/N: Well, this is the last chapter… which I've worked hard to fill with cuteness and banter – only the good stuff... well, 95% anyway… Hope you all enjoy it! ;)_

 _Monday (Day 13, aka "The Next Morning")_

It was light in her room when Jane shifted in bed, waking up gradually and opening her eyes, squinting against the light and pressing her cheek further into the softness of her pillow. Despite what she'd feared, she'd slept the whole night without any nightmares. She couldn't get over how much better she felt after getting a good night's sleep. When her eyes finally opened all the way and focused properly, for a second she wondered if she hadn't really woken up after all. _Is this some weird kind of dream?_ she wondered. To say that she was surprised to find Weller laying beside her would be a rather significant understatement. Surprised and confused.

 _What's he still doing here?_ she thought, having trouble figuring out exactly how this had ended up happening.

She turned all the way onto her right side, facing him, pulling herself up onto her elbow and just watched him sleeping. He was laying on his back, but his head was turned toward her, his left cheek pushing into her extra pillow.

 _Seriously, what's he doing here?_ She hadn't had a nightmare, so she hadn't called him for that – not that she thought she would have even if she'd _had_ one – she also hadn't called him for anything else in the middle of the night… had she? No! She was absolutely sure that she hadn't called him… So then…?

Never having had a chance to watch him so intently without him catching her, she was slightly mesmerized as she watched him sleep, and her distraction made it hard to think back to the night before. She was still groggy from sleep, and her mind grasped at the details of the previous night. What time had he left?

 _Judging from the fact that he's sleeping next to you, obviously he didn't…_

She felt like she should have felt awkward about this, but found that all she could do was smile.

Thinking harder about the previous night, she was still trying to figure it all out. She remembered sitting next to Weller on the edge of the bed, remembered him putting his hand on top of hers… she felt herself blush at the thought. Somehow, he always knew how to calm her down, and yesterday he'd had to do it over and over again. Her eyes closed momentarily and she cringed slightly at the thought of her state of mind the previous day, but it passed in seconds. Opening her eyes again, she felt a rush of affection for the man in front of her.

Yes, his hand had been on top of hers, because he'd been trying to distract her from the fact that sheH had been terrified to go to sleep, even though she'd been so exhausted she'd been nearly delirious. He'd been sitting there with her, and then he'd convinced her that she had to get in bed… _One step at a time_ , he'd said.

And then she remembered that he'd asked her if she wanted him to keep her company or if he should let her get some sleep. She also remembered the panic that had filled her head at the thought of being alone with her thoughts, so much so that she hadn't even been able to answer him. _He was going to leave_? _She desperately wanted him_ _ **not**_ _to leave… not yet… But how could she ask him_ _ **not**_ _to go home and get some sleep? Especially after spending so much time with her, day in and day out. He'd basically put his whole life on hold, and she wanted_ _ **more**_ _?_

No, she just couldn't ask that of him… but at the same time, she also couldn't tell him that she was fine if he left. Normally, yes, no matter how she felt she'd have probably told him to go – not that he'd have believed her, of course – but yesterday had been… just so much worse than most other days. She just hadn't had it in her to even try to pretend that she was fine.

So when he'd crawled up onto the bed beside her, all she could do was watch in disbelief, unable to express her relief and gratitude and absolute surprise. Because how could he possibly _know_? But then again, why was it still surprising her when he seemed to know her better than she knew herself? After all, it had been happening for quite a while. She swore there were times when he could read her mind, and that had certainly been one of them.

Her memory of the previous night was flooding back now. She remembered that he'd sat on the bed right beside her and joked about it being comfortable, and how he was surprised that an FBI safe house would have a bed that comfortable. He'd acted like it was so normal – all of it – that she hadn't been able to help but start to relax. Even with his good intentions, it could still have been painfully awkward, and yet somehow he'd made it seem like the most normal thing in the world that he would just sit there with her and talk to her while she tried to sleep.

 _Only Weller. And only for you,_ the voice in her head told her. It might have been easy to shrug off such a thought before, but it was less so with Weller himself sleeping soundly on the bed beside her. She'd always known that he cared about her, but the evidence had become a lot more obvious in the past few weeks. After last night… well, as much as she knew for a fact that all of these things had actually happened, it still felt like she was dreaming… because how could a guy like this be real?

Sitting there beside her last night, he'd started telling her all kinds of stories – she couldn't remember details of most of them now, only that they spanned years and years. Childhood, high school, even his time at the FBI, including the early days of working with Patterson, Reade and Zapata. She must have fallen asleep at some point while he'd been talking, because she didn't remember him saying good night or finishing his stories. He'd just kept going, until all she heard was the hum of his voice beside her, lulling her to sleep.

As she lay there now, leaning on her elbow and smiling at the memory of the previous night, only now fully understanding what he'd done for her, she watched the morning light dance across his face as he stirred. She felt a mixture of amazement and gratitude. She couldn't think of anything that she'd done to deserve anyone who was so good to her. He could easily have gone home. Even just waiting until she had fallen asleep and then going home would have been substantial proof of his friendship and devotion to her.

But no, instead he'd slept beside her, in his clothes, all night long, no doubt because he was afraid that she'd have another nightmare and suffer through it alone… and he was right, she probably would have, if it had come to that. He knew her too well. Not only was he sleeping in his clothes, she also noticed that he was laying on top of the covers. For a minute she wondered why, but then it hit her. It was simple – because he wanted her to feel safe when she woke up. She shook her head yet again… he was just too sweet to be real.

She'd been enjoying watching him for a while, thinking that it was okay with her if he kept sleeping so she could just watch him ( _Wait, is that a weird thing to think? I'm not sure… but he just looks so peaceful…_ ) when his eyes slowly blinked open. They went directly to hers, and she swore he was blushing slightly when he saw her watching him.

"Good morning," she said quietly, smiling in amusement.

"Good morning," he replied, his voice slightly raspy. He stretched his arms over his head, and then turned on his side to face her, pushing his left cheek into the pillow.

 _He's definitely blushing a little under that scruff_ , she decided. She had the strangest sensation that he was both incredibly close to her and much too far away, all at the same time.

"How'd you sleep?" he asked. He was smiling at her. _That smile._

"Like a log, if a log could get a good night's sleep and feel very well rested… and far less psychotic than it was the day before," Jane told him, fairly sure that she had a stupid grin on her face. She couldn't help it.

He was truly relieved that she'd made it through the night. Hopefully that nightmare had been a one-time thing. That one night of sleep seemed to have made a world of difference to her… and finding him lying beside her probably had something to do with the look on her face, as well.

"Apparently I have you to thank for that," she added. She hoped that her eyes were imparting that she knew and appreciated exactly how much what he had done meant to her.

It was obvious to him that she was very amused to find him there, and he _was_ a little bit embarrassed to have just made the decision on his own to sleep beside her on her bed. That wasn't something that you generally sprung on someone. A coworker… no, certainly not. But that wasn't all they were to each other, obviously. It hadn't been all they were to each other back when Jane had first gotten poison ivy, either. They'd already been friends then. No, even when they'd first met, there had always been something extra between them – even before she was Taylor.

Despite the fact that she hadn't had a nightmare, he didn't regret his decision to stay. How could he, with her looking at him the way she was now? She looked so happy to see him there beside her… how could anyone regret being somewhere where they got to see that smile? No, he was just glad to see her smiling, even if it was slightly at his expense. Knowing that he put the smile on her face made everything worth it.

He shook his head. He didn't regret his decision to stay, but that didn't mean he didn't feel like he should apologize. "Sorry Jane, I guess it was a little presumptuous of me to stay, I just…"

"You just didn't believe me when I said I'd call you if I had a nightmare, and you were worried about me," she told him.

 _Busted_ , he thought. He just smiled at her. _Of course she knows._

When he didn't deny it, she smiled triumphantly for a second, before she smiled and shrugged, looking down at the bed in between them and then back up at him, her smile growing. "And you were right. I probably wouldn't have. I guess I'm as stubborn as you are."

Despite the stupid grin that felt plastered to her face, thinking about the previous night – the whole day, really – had left her feeling slightly embarrassed. She'd been a mess, and he'd been nothing but sweet to her. "I'm sorry about yesterday," she said softly. "I was a mess from start to finish."

He shook his head, and if it was possible, his smile became even more sincere. "I told you, don't apologize. That's what I'm here for."

She sighed. "To try to stop me from losing my mind?"

"For you, Jane."

His last three words literally took her breath away, and for a second she simple stared at him, unable to move or breath. This was not real. _He_ was not real. How could he be? And then her face erupted into a smile so wide she wondered if her face would crack open. She could have almost forgotten where she was, because all she saw was him.

"You know that, right?" he added sincerely.

She glanced away quickly, feeling her smile falter for a second. It was the kind of thing that seemed too good to be true, despite the quickly mounting evidence to the contrary. Being no one and having nothing, as she had been when she'd first come to the FBI, was seared so powerfully into her memory that no matter how much she knew that what Weller was saying was the truth, it was scary to let herself believe it completely. When you had nothing, you had nothing to lose, and the feeling of having lost absolutely _everything_ , her memories included, was still fresh. She trusted him implicitly, and yet, it was still slightly terrifying to let her believe something so simple.

The feeling passed in a few seconds, however, and she locked her eyes onto his again. He'd seen her hesitation, but he'd watched so many other things in her eyes as well, so the doubt he'd seen there didn't bother him. On the contrary, it was almost a challenge – to continue to find ways to show her that he meant it. He didn't think he'd ever met anyone who said as much without saying a single word as Jane did. Or maybe it was just that he was specially tuned to understand her.

Why did she always get the feeling that no matter how complicated her thoughts were, he saw right through them to their simplest underlying emotions? Even when _she_ couldn't sort them out? Maybe he really could…

His smile was making her a little dizzy, but in a good way.

The air between them felt lighter than usual somehow, and she wondered how long they were going to lay there smiling at each other _._ She felt the urge to reach for him somehow – he was right there in front of her, within arms' length, after all… but she didn't. That seemed to be something he did without too much thought, and always just when she needed it, even when _she_ didn't know she did. She, on the other hand, felt too self-conscious for that, _most_ of the time, anyway. Surely, there were rules for these things, rules that she had no idea about.

He stared up at her, her face still propped up on her elbow, even relishing the teasing looks in her eyes. She was happy to see him there, which was a relief. It had never occurred to him to stop and consider what she might think when she woke up and found him there. But there was no denying, she looked happy, and that was all that mattered.

"Are you hungry?" he asked her, holding her gaze steadily. Her first reaction was to stifle a chuckle. It had become something of an assumption between them that Weller was pretty much always hungry.

"A little," she replied, after considering the question for a second. But in reality, she was enjoying being where she was just then, and was in no rush for either of them to move. Suddenly concerned that the idea of breakfast would ruin this perfect moment, she added, "But… no rush on my account." She blushed slightly, wondering if he was doing that thing he always did where he read her mind, because really she was hoping that they could stay exactly where they were a little longer. Actually, she wouldn't object to staying there more than a littlelonger… she couldn't think of anywhere she'd rather be. She tried to cover her rapidly warming face by teasing him, though all of a sudden her words weren't coming out quite right. "And of course, _you_ are… Hungry, that is," she added, now completely flustered.

He just shrugged, his smile spreading across his face even further. Flustered Jane was possibly the cutest thing he'd ever seen. "I could eat," he agreed with a smile, playing along. Still, he didn't move. It was pretty clear to him that she didn't want to move yet, and he couldn't claim to be in a hurry either. She chuckled at his casual admission of hunger, and laid her head back down on her pillow, tucking the arm that she'd been leaning on back under it so that they were on the same eye level.

"But not just yet," he added, in a voice that was just above a whisper, keeping his eyes locked on hers. They just continued to smile at each other, and she was beginning to wonder, worrying just a little, if he really _had_ read her mind.

Then, almost as if it happened in slow motion, he reached up and pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, letting his fingers pause gently against the skin on the back of her ear for a few seconds longer than necessary. It may have been his imagination, but he swore that she held her breath as he then brushed his fingers along the back of her ear all the way down to her earlobe before slowly withdrawing them.

While her memory didn't stretch back very far, she couldn't imagine that anything in that previous life that she couldn't remember could have come close to the happiness she felt at that moment.

XXX

 _Sunday (Day 19)_

Now, nearly a week after that day, she opened her eyes on what was already shaping up as a bright, sunny, Sunday morning… Day 19 on the poison ivy count. She looked at the empty space beside her and remembered that smile he'd given her as they'd lay there staring at each other, the same one he gave her so often, except that the intensity had been turned way up. It was the smile that told her without any doubt that she was the most important person in the world. Just thinking about it, about him, she couldn't help but smile again. It had been a little strange to wake up with him next to her, and yet… it had also been the most normal thing in the world. Maybe one of these days it would happen again… who knew?

 _Don't get ahead of yourself_ , her inner voice cautioned.

She stretched and yawned, turning over to look at the clock beside her bed. 7:14. This week she'd been adjusting to waking up earlier again, since she'd finished the steroids that had prevented her from going out in the sun and thus trapping her in the house. At the same time, after her doctor's appointment on Monday, she had agreed to take the rest of the week, the week that was now blissfully over, off of work, giving the scabs left over on her arms and legs adequate time to heal. She knew that if she were in the office and they ended up out in the field, which happened often, she couldn't exactly tell herself, "Okay, I'll go into the field but I'll take it easy." If she was in the field and something happened, she'd take care of it however it needed to be taken care of, without regard for her slightly delicate healing skin. There was no doubt about that.

Even back on that Monday, now six days ago, seeing the poison really ivy going away and knowing that in only a few days she could get back to the business of living this strange life she'd been thrown into, she had been more able to accept a few more days of rest. Besides, it meant a few more days of hanging out with Weller outside of work. As much as she was chomping at the bit to get back to work, she worried a little bit about losing this time with him, since things between them were different at work – by necessity, of course – but she was determined not to think too much about it until she was actually there. It would be fine.

Turning onto her back under the covers and pulling back the sleeves of her shirt, she held out her forearms in front of her, smiling at what she saw. The remnants of the reaction, which had once been so severe it had made her cringe to look at the angry patches of blisters that erupted from under the ink of her tattoos, now consisted mostly of a smattering of small pink circles surrounded by larger, less discolored circles of skin that was simply very dry. It still itched, but she could live with that, knowing that it was also temporary. There was nothing left to bleed if she hit it too hard – which was most certainly a danger in the line of work in which she now found herself. No, she was scheduled to go back to work tomorrow and she would be ready. It had been a _long_ 19 days.

Despite her relief that this recovery period was ending, she couldn't help but smile when she looked back on those days since Weller had told her she had poison ivy. Despite her discomfort, frustration and general unhappiness, she – no, _they_ , meaning she and Weller – had done a ton of fun things. He'd been a lifesaver. Without him, she simply couldn't imagine how she would have coped for so long, "sick" in terms of not being able to go to work, but well enough to need help keeping herself busy for the seemingly never ending string of days at home. Even after getting a lot of practice, she did not do "sitting around" or "relaxing" very well.

Pulling back the covers and swinging her feet to the floor, she thought ahead to this last day of forced time off, and she couldn't help but be excited. She didn't know where they were going, all she knew was that she'd been told that she'd love it. Considering that Weller had come up with so many fun ideas in the past few weeks, even despite some frustrating limitations, such as "avoid sun exposure," she had absolutely no doubt that today would be even better than the rest. After all, her poison ivy was practically _gone_. She'd honestly felt like that would _never_ happen.

She went to shower, not even minding the slight irritation of the water against the numerous spots on her skin where the poison ivy's mark had not yet disappeared. _One step at a time_ , she told herself. Dried off and dressed in one of her basic outfits, jeans with a white tank top and a grey zip up sweatshirt over it, she walked downstairs to find Weller sitting on her couch. He was currently admiring the puzzle that they'd worked on together. They hadn't had the heart to disassemble it yet, after working so long on it. He looked up and smiled when she came down the stairs.

"I knocked, I swear," he said as a greeting, even though he knew very well that she didn't mind. "I think you were in the shower."

"Good morning to you, too," she said with a smile. "I'm just surprised you're _up_ this early. It's your last chance to sleep in before you can't use me as an excuse to only work half days." She was standing in front of the coffee table now, looking down at him with a teasing smile.

"You mean my last chance to hang out with you without work interfering," he corrected her. "Sleep is overrated, anyway."

She felt herself blushing slightly at that, and she watched as he stood up, his eyes remaining on her.

"How does it look?" he asked, his eyes glancing down at her arms.

"The poison ivy? _Almost_ like it was never there," she replied, almost gleefully. She walked around the coffee table and pushed up her sleeves, standing in front of him and holding out her forearms, the palms of her hands facing up.

Just like he'd done the first night when he'd told her that she had poison ivy, he took her hands, placing his thumbs gently in the center of each of her palms, the tips of his other four fingers supporting them. This time, her fingers suddenly curled towards his thumbs, gently folding over them. She bit her lip awkwardly, looking surprised, despite the fact that she was the one whose fingers had covered his. Glancing up at him shyly to see his reaction, she saw him smiling at her, and she relaxed.

He was so amused by her reaction, he almost forgot why he'd taken her hands in the first place. When she looked back down at her arms, his eyes followed hers and he remembered what he was doing, proceeding to inspect what was left of the poison ivy rash.

He looked at her forearms, inspecting the difference that the past nineteen days had made. He'd seen every stage of the progression along with her, which made the fact that it was all now _almost_ just a bad memory – for her anyway – that much better.

"You ready to go?" he asked, their hands still clasped together.

"Breakfast?" she asked, her eyes dancing excitedly. He wasn't sure how much of it was the way they were standing, holding onto each other's hands, or the thought of breakfast that made her smile like that.

 _Probably both,_ he thought in amusement. Jane could be reserved about her emotions when she was upset – not that she could successfully hide them from _him_ – but when she was happy, it generally shone through pretty clearly.

"Yep," he said. "Breakfast." She nodded excitedly. Still, they stood where they were for a few more seconds before either of them broke contact, letting go reluctantly and each getting their jackets.

Outside, the air was crisp, as early November in New York often is, and there wasn't a cloud in the sky. Jane pulled on her gloves, not because she had to because she was contagious, but because her hands were cold – and enjoyed the fact that she had the choice. She had bounded out the door first in her excitement, so Weller, following their now-established pattern, locked the door behind them. It was strange how much her safe house felt like a second home to him after the past few weeks, but it made perfect sense considering how much of his time he'd spent there.

They turned left out onto the sidewalk, Weller nodding at her detail, Jane giving a little wave, and set out without even needing to discuss where they were going – the bakery, _of course_. Jane hadn't been there herself since the first week of her infection, back before she'd been on the heavy meds that had kept her out of the sun. She practically skipped along beside him, soon pulling ahead of him in her excitement, turning to look back at him over her shoulder with a grin.

"You in a hurry?" he asked her with a smile, pretending it wasn't obvious.

"Maybe I am," she replied. "Why not? It's a beautiful day. And I'm hungry!"

He smiled and shook his head, walking just a little faster to try to keep with her.

At the bakery, they chose a selection of pastries they hadn't yet had the chance to try, along with the all-important coffee, and then claimed the same table outside that they'd occupied the first day they'd been there. Once again they were the only ones there, inside or out. It seemed amazing to her, since as far as she was concerned, the place was so amazing it should have been crowded. Still, she didn't mind one bit that they had it to themselves.

Gloves quickly removed, Jane took charge of breaking off pieces of various things for them to try, her delight with the pastries, the coffee, and the entire outing every bit as obvious as it had been on their first visit. He watched her and smiled. Her delight was the best part of the whole thing, even better than the food, which was pretty amazing.

She knew that he was laughing at her. Well, not laughing at her, exactly, but grinning at her and chuckling in amusement… and she knew it was because of the way she was acting, so absolutely overjoyed to be there. She didn't care if he found her amusing. No, she actually enjoyed it. At that moment, she was enjoying pretty much everything.

"What?" she asked him, making a face at him and watching his amused expression.

"Nothing," he said innocently, holding up his hands as if to prove it. She offered him another piece of pastry, shaking her head at him. "I'm glad you're enjoying yourself," he told her sincerely.

"Mmmmm mmmmm mmmmm!" she exclaimed happily, and he chuckled again. She'd had a rough few weeks – hell, a rough entire life, as far as she could remember – and if anyone deserved to be lost in happiness over some pastries and coffee, it was her. Tomorrow their lives could get back to "normal," or what passed for normal since Jane had appeared in Times Square. Though he was looking forward to it, and he was glad that her poison ivy had finally become more of a minor, disappearing irritation, he'd also come to enjoy the downtime with her, and he had to admit to himself that, selfishly, he'd miss hanging out with her one on one for large chunks of time. He tried not to focus on that, however, but on the remaining day that still stretched out in front of them before reality, as kind as it may or may not be to them, would return.

They sat at the table and enjoyed the morning, the food and the company until their coffees were finished and their pastries completely nibbled – this time, they'd finished everything. Jane gathered up the trash and jumped up, and, her hands now full, did a little dance in order to get the crumbs to fall off of where they'd settled on her lap.

He stifled a sudden burst of laughter as she danced her way to the trash can. She dumped the trash into the trash and then turned around, brushing the remaining crumbs off of her and narrowing her eyes playfully at him. "You laughing at me, Weller?" she called, striding towards him and stopping in front of where he was still sitting in his chair, hands on her hips. He pressed his lips together, attempting to hide his smile.

"I wouldn't dare," he finally replied seriously, but his eyes betrayed him. She laughed outright then, and his smile escaped his control. Yes, he was going to miss this. He'd learned to appreciate time outside of work for the first time he could remember. Possibly the first time ever.

"Let's go," she told him impatiently. She held out her hands to pull _him_ up, though of course she wasn't strong enough to do so if he didn't decide to get up. Yet again, he smiled at her, glad that he was there in that moment.

" _Bossy,"_ he said, winking at her, watching her smile in recognition at what was usually _her_ line, but that was always said with great affection, no matter which of them said it. She chuckled slightly, still holding her hands out to him.

Grasping her hands, he pushed himself up from his chair, pretending that she was pulling him up, then once he was upright, letting her right hand, which was in his left, fall back to their respective sides, while keeping a loose hold on her left hand in his right as they set off down the sidewalk. It was going to be hard to find that line again, the one they had managed to dance back and forth on before she'd gotten poison ivy, but which had since then _almost_ , but not quite, disappeared… _Tomorrow_. But for today… he decided he simply didn't care.

"So, where are we going?" she asked, glancing at their clasped hands, and then back up at him shyly. When she looked at him that way… it was just so endearing.

"To the car," he replied, deadpan humor once again in use. She reached across and punched him gently with her free hand, her face full of mock irritation.

"So, you're not going to tell me?" she asked.

"Nope," he replied, shaking his head. "But we _are_ going to the car…" he added.

They make it to the car, making faces at each other the whole way over Jane's repeated attempts to get him to tell her where they were going and Weller's flat out refusal to do so. He shook his head at her. She should know that as an FBI agent, he wasn't going to divulge any secret that he didn't want to give away… not even to _her_. It made for an amusing drive into midtown, however. At least, _he_ found it amusing.

When they'd finally parked on what appeared to Jane to be a random street on the Upper West Side, she was still baffled about what they were doing. She climbed out and looked around, waiting while Weller took a backpack out of the back seat, slinging it over his shoulder casually and walked around to join her on the sidewalk. There were buildings on the far side of the wide street and a grassy area that seemed to stretch on and on, beginning just past the sidewalk on the side on which they were standing. Come to think of it, she didn't remember ever seeing this much greenery in the city before…

Then suddenly Weller was standing beside her, watching her look out at the expanse of grass and trees in front of them. "It's called Central Park," he told her. "It's 843 acres of park in the middle of Manhattan." He looked down at her, and watched as surprise – as he expected – crept across her face.

"Wow," she replied. "That's a lot of park in the middle of such a big city." He nodded in agreement.

"It sure is," he said. "And it's one of the most well-known sites in New York City. They film tons of TV shows and movies here, people reserve sections of it for parties and weddings… and for good reason. It's pretty spectacular, basically all year long."

"Wow," she said again. "Sounds amazing."

"So let's go," he said, grabbing her hand loosely and tugging her along with him. _Line be damned_ , he thought. He'd worry about that tomorrow. She walked behind him slowly, still looking out into the distance as if contemplating the sheer scale of the park existing right in the middle of the city. She almost seemed to be in a daze.

"Hey," he said, stopping and turning to face her, still holding her hand, slightly confused. "You okay?"

"Yeah," she said, finally focusing on him and not the greenery in the distance. Coming out of her thoughts she smiled up at him. "Lead the way."

They headed for the path that would lead them into the park, bumping their shoulders into each other playfully as they walked. The sun was shining and the air, while chilly, was still, so it didn't feel as cold as it otherwise might have at that time of year. All in all, they couldn't have asked for nicer weather for their last free day.

They wandered along paths, cut across large patches of grass, back along paths again, and even across a concrete bridge, constructed with an intricate pattern along the edge. As they'd approached it, Jane had stopped to appreciate the architecture. It was not an exaggeration to say that it was one of the most beautiful bridges she'd ever seen. It was a lot of fun to see Central Park with Jane, to see her experience everything for the first time, and everything with awe.

Having lived in New York City for so many years, he'd seen most of the highlights – though really, he'd passed through or by most of them in a work capacity, not in a leisurely way – unless Sarah had dragged him along, as she had on the holiday lights tour. He and Allie hadn't ever really done this sort of thing, and she'd been the next closest he'd gotten to anyone unrelated to him that he'd known in his years in the city. He knew why things had gone the way they had for him – work had always just been his only real priority – but he couldn't help but realize for the first time that he'd been missing out. He knew _of_ the things in New York, but hadn't really _experienced_ any of them before.

"Ready for a break?" he asked her. They'd been walking for quite a while, just wandering and enjoying the beautiful views, the day and each other's company. They were standing in the middle of a grassy field, and they were almost the only people as far as they could see – probably due to the chilly weather.

"Sure," she said, stopping behind him.

He reluctantly let go of her hand – which he'd been holding through all of their wanderings so far, and took the backpack off of his shoulder, setting it on the ground and unzipping it.

"So, what's in there?" she asked curiously.

"Oh, not much. A few different things," he told her vaguely. He took out a large, thick blue blanket, quickly zipping the bag back up before she had a chance to look any farther inside. Taking a few steps from where they were standing, he spread it out on the grass, tossing the backpack onto the far corner and then stepping carefully onto it, dropping to his knees and then finally sitting back, leaning back against his elbows with his legs stretched out in front of him.

"Plenty of room here," he said, waving vaguely toward the other half of the blanket. For some reason she was suddenly self-conscious, unsure exactly how close to him she should sit. Because they'd never discussed what exactly they were doing, beyond their one, vague "whatever this is," conversation, she felt like she ended up in this situation fairly often – never sure exactly what to do when faced with deciding how close to him she should get, literally or figuratively.

Of course, she knew that she was the one who made it awkward, and unnecessarily so – despite their lack of conversations on the subject, their feelings about each other seemed to be fairly clear, and fairly evenly matched. When she didn't overthink it, things felt incredibly easy between them – far easier than they logically should have, actually. Of course, this was all only because they weren't at work. She didn't need human resources training to know that at work, everything was different. But today, they weren't at work, they were in the park.

He watched her hesitating, so he patted the spot beside him, smiling sincerely. Relieved that he _had_ read her mind that time, or at least her expression, she stepped onto the blanket, dropping to her knees and crawling the last few steps across the blanket, just as he had, and coming to rest just beside him, where he'd suggested. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eyes, still feeling strangely awkward.

"The clouds are pretty cool today," he observed, leaning all the way back so that he was laying flat, folding one arm behind his head and looking up at the puffy while clouds above them. Because there was no wind, they didn't appear to be moving at all. Jane, thankful for a distraction from her sudden awkwardness, did the same, laying back next to him. She knew without having to look at him that he'd shifted their focus to the clouds to distract her from whatever was making her feel uncomfortable. The clouds _did_ look pretty cool. She couldn't say she'd ever really spent any time thinking about clouds.

"That one," Weller said, pointing at one that was a particularly odd shape, "almost looks like a…"

"A slice of pizza?" she suggested.

"I was thinking more of an ice cream cone, but I could also see a slice of pizza," he said thoughtfully.

She turned her head towards him, looking at him out of the corner of her eyes, "You're hungry again, aren't you?"

He turned to face her, their faces suddenly surprisingly close together. "Well…" he made a thoughtful face. "Yeah, a little bit."

She chuckled and rolled her eyes. "Of course. I should have known," she replied, awkwardness now forgotten.

"But," he said, suddenly sitting up, "I planned for such an occasion." She pulled herself partway up, leaning back against her elbows the way Weller had been before, to see what he was doing.

"You did?" she asked. "Why, what else is in the bag?"

"Well… food," he chuckled, looking into the bag and rummaging through its contents. "Basically just food."

She nodded, laying back down and looking up at the clouds and smiling. "Of course," she said, "You _were_ the one who packed it."

"Very funny," he said, flopping back down next to her, on his stomach this time, nudging her shoulder playfully with his. "Be nice, and I might share."

"You mean if I'm _not_ nice then you won't share?" she asked, wide eyed and innocently.

"Were you not planning on being nice?" he asked, feigning confusion. "We _do_ still have to work together, you know…"

She sighed heavily, pretending to think about it. "Is there anything in it for me besides food?" she asked, well aware that she'd gone from awkward to over the invisible line teasing in a matter of minutes… and yet somehow, she knew that their "whatever it was" could accommodate the sudden shifts. They'd had enough of them already, after all.

When he leaned down closer to her face in response, she almost regretted the fact that the back of her head was against the blanket and she had nowhere to go… Almost. "Did you have something in mind?" he asked. She stared into his eyes, dangerously close, and bit her lip, shaking her head slightly.

"Just wondering," she said innocently, just above a whisper. He smiled knowingly and backed off a few inches, looking down at the bag in his hands.

"I'll share my grapes with you," he said, holding up the bag. " _If_ you promise to be nice."

Again, she looked at him innocently. "I promise," she told him, biting back a smile. He broke off a few grapes from the cluster in the plastic bag he was holding and held it out to her. "Thanks," she said quietly. She took them from him, smiling, and bit one off the stem. She didn't bother to mention that she hadn't had grapes before, that she could remember.

It got old, mentioning that every little thing she did, saw, tasted or otherwise experienced was brand new, even as sympathetic as Weller was, and as many things as he actively tried to help her cross off her seemingly never ending list. She wondered then if Weller had _known_ that she'd never tried grapes before. It would be just like him to pack them specifically for that reason. The thought made her smile.

She hadn't actually realized that she was hungry, but she was. Maybe Weller was rubbing off on her. They'd certainly spent enough time together lately. Glancing at him, she realized that he was watching her carefully, that she had a kind of a goofy smile on her face, and she felt herself blushing. "They're good," she said, hoping to change the subject. She'd even settle talking about how she'd never had grapes before, at that moment.

He smiled knowingly, pushed himself up and retrieved another bag of grapes from his backpack, flopping back down beside her and handing it to her. "I thought you might say that," he said simply.

"Yeah," she replied, popping a few grapes in her mouth so that she didn't have to worry about the fact that she wasn't talking. Then, when she finished chewing, she figured _why not?_ "First time trying them," she said, glancing at the sky, feeling the exasperation of having to make this admission, and then back at him.

"I know," he said, looking slightly guilty.

 _He_ _ **had**_ _known. I'll bet everything in that backpack is something I haven't tried_ … she thought. She ate the rest of her grapes in silence, watching the clouds. It was so peaceful here, she wished they could just stay there forever. When she'd finished the grapes, she crumpled the bag in her hand, laying her hand by her side and closing her eyes. A few minutes later, she felt movement beside her, felt the bag being taken out of her hand, and heard the zipper on Weller's backpack. Then he was lying beside her again.

"Are you asleep?" he asked her quietly.

"I must be," she said, "because I think I'm dreaming. Today is perfect." She smiled and bit her the side of her lip, knowing what she'd said was a little cheesy, then peeked her eyes open. As expected, he was watching her, and thankfully seemed to be grinning at what she'd said, not giving her a hard time for being sentimental.

"It is, isn't it?" he agreed. He was laying on his back again, right beside her, and without even thinking about it she leaned her head over just enough to rest the side of it on his shoulder. She was already dreading the end of the day and a return to the real world, when he reached down and took her hand, lacing their fingers together.

She lifted her head slightly, trying to make eye contact with him. When she did, in her eyes were so many questions. This day was perfect, and so much about the past 19 days had been perfect (despite being simultaneously also horrible), but it was all about to end. She didn't know what has going on in the first place, so it was hard to wonder how everything was about to change… which was probably why she didn't have any words to ask him about what happened after today. Not that she expected him to be able to answer any of these questions, even if she _had_ been able to ask.

He squeezed her hand, smiling warmly at her, and she relaxed back against his shoulder once again, choosing to ignore the many doubts and questions in favor of the security she felt in that exact moment. So because she'd relaxed and closed her eyes again, she was surprised when he tugged on her hand, lifting it. She opened her eyes in surprise to see what he was doing, and watched, once again feeling as if they were moving in slow motion, as he brought it to his lips, kissing the back of her hand gently before letting their hands fall back to the space between them once more.

Her heart was hammering in her chest, and she was temporarily unable to move – but in a good way. She wasn't actually certain that she was _breathing_. Her head was still leaned against his shoulder, and there was a smile firmly embedded on her face… at the same time, however, there was a slightly shocked look on her face. He glanced at her and smiled, squeezing her hand and leaning his head against hers.

"Is it weird that I'm kind of glad I got poison ivy?" she asked, finally finding her voice.

"Is it bad that I'm glad you did?" he asked in reply. They both chuckled.

"As horrible as it was… and it _was_ horrible…" she started.

"It wasn't _all_ bad," he finished for her.

"Can we just stay here?" she asked.

"Here in the grass?" he replied. "This is an even worse place to live than the playground… absolutely _no_ shelter here… And we do have some food, but it won't last too long…"

"Especially with how often you get hungry," she added. For that comment she got a playful nudge of his shoulder into hers, and she laughed.

"And I don't know how you feel about not having any plumbing facilities, but I have a feeling that after having poison ivy, peeing in the woods isn't really at the top of your list…" She shivered involuntarily at the idea, then laughed.

"So, what you're saying is, we can't stay here forever," she said sadly, trying to lift herself up far enough to lean back against her elbows, but without disengaging their hands. It was tricky, and she was having trouble accomplishing it, so to solve the problem, he did the same, so their hands were still beside each other, though keeping their fingers intertwined was now much more challenging.

"I'm sorry, we can't," he lamented. "But… we're here now."

"Yeah," she sighed. "Now is good."

He smiled, sitting up the rest of the way, and she turned to look up at him, then without a word, she sat up as well, scooting herself back towards him until she was leaning all the way against his chest. Instead of resting his arms on his knees, as he'd done in the blanket fort, he put them around her waist, holding on tight, resting the side of his chin against her cheek.

"Are you absolutely sure we can't stay here?" she asked. It was worth a try, after all.

She felt him chuckle against her back, and he pulled her just a little tighter. "Shush," he whispered, leaning so that he was speaking into her ear. "Don't be greedy. Just enjoy it." She chuckled as well, feeling slightly giddy.

Leaning her cheek into the side of his face, where he'd rested it, she whispered, " _Bossy."_ She had no intention of moving from that very spot until she had absolutely no other choice.

They didn't get back to Jane's safe house that night very, very late. It was almost 2:00 am, and, considering that they'd be going to work in only a few hours, staying out so late had been a _terrible_ idea. And yet, they simply could not bring themselves to allow reality to encroach on their perfect day until it had become absolutely necessary. While they hadn't stayed in that exact spot on the ground all day, they hadn't made it back to Weller's car until just after the park closed at 1:00 am.

Pulling up in front of Jane's safe house, Weller shifted the car into Park and looked at Jane, asleep beside him in the passenger seat. He couldn't blame her, he was exhausted, too.

Sighing, he pushed his door open and walked around to her side, opening her door and looking at her. He _really_ didn't want to have to wake her up, but they both needed a few hours of sleep in an actual bed before facing the workday.

 _Your own bed,_ the voice in his head reminded him. He hadn't stayed at Jane's house since the one night he'd worried about her nightmares returning.

He had come to the end of the time where he could ignore the fact that there had to be a line between them that they couldn't cross. They were going to have to stop even dancing across it, and that was going to be painful, he knew. And though they weren't at work yet, they were painfully close.

"Jane," he whispered, putting a hand on her shoulder and shaking her gently. Her eyes began to open slowly, and she was temporarily confused about where she was. "Hey," he said softly, moving his hand to her cheek, tracing her jawline with his thumb.

 _Weller, that is_ _ **not**_ _a good idea._

 _I don't care,_ he replied in his head.

She smiled, leaning into his hand. "Hey," she said, her voice raspy from just waking up.

"We're back at your safe house," he told her quietly.

"Okay," she whispered, not making any move to leave the car. He chuckled at her. This wasn't going to be easy.

"Come on, Sleeping Beauty," he whispered, taking her hands, and tugging her towards him, "you need to sleep in your bed, not my car, and I need to go home and sleep, too."

"Are you sure?" she asked, letting him pull her towards him but no farther.

He sighed heavily. It wasn't as though he wanted to drop her off any more than she wanted to be dropped off, and that fact wasn't helping.

She was leaning against him now, her head against his shoulder, her hands loosely in his, resting on her knees.

"Come on, Jane," he said softly, almost begging her not to make this harder than it had to be. This was the last thing he wanted to be doing. He'd put off thinking about going back to what they had been before her poison ivy for as long as he could, but always with the knowledge that he didn't have to think about it yet. And now he did, and he hated it. Did things _have to_ be different? Maybe not… but at work… _yes._

Refusing to wait for her to cooperate, because he was fairly sure that she would simply continue to stall all night, he put his arms around her waist and lifted her out of the seat, and found that she was not being very helpful. She looped her arms around his shoulders as she felt herself lifting, but made no attempt to lift herself off of the seat. He set her down on her feet outside the car, and she only grudgingly dropped her arms from around his neck. He turned around, pushing the door closed and turned back to face her.

"Come on, Jane, it's late," he said. He knew she wasn't resisting because she wanted to be difficult, but because the day – hell, the last 19 days – had been so special… and yet, he really wished that she wouldn't make him be the bad guy. He took her hand, because he was pretty sure it was the only way he was going to get her to her door. He walked up the few steps, fished her keys out of her jacket pocket – which made her smile – and then leaned past her to unlock the door for her, knowing that she would drag her feet on any of those steps in the process for as long as possible. As much as he didn't want to leave her there and go back to reality, he needed to get it over with.

Her front door was now open, and he dropped her keys back into her pocket. She had at least turned around, and was now leaning against the door frame, looking at him sadly. He started to step back, but she was still holding his hand, and he felt her hold on tighter when he began to move.

"Weller, I…" She looked upset, as though something was genuinely wrong. He stepped back to where he'd been in front of her, squeezing her hand. "I couldn't have made it through the last 19 days without you."

"You could have, if you'd had to," he assured her quietly.

She shook her head in protest, but didn't argue further. "I'm just glad I didn't have to," she replied quietly.

"Never," he said, letting go of her hand. He'd meant to take that moment to step back from her, putting physical distance between the two of them, but instead he found that once again, he had reached up to push her hair behind her ear. As he withdrew his hand this time, his finger traced her cheek for just a second, before he forced himself to pull it away, despite the fact that he hated himself as he did it. But he knew that he had to back away from her, and do it now, before he made things worse for both of them.

But the time she realized that he had backed away, he'd stepped down the first of the few steps in front of her house and was no longer within her reach. She sighed sadly.

"Thank you, Weller, _Again._ " It was the same thing she'd said every night – every night that he'd _left_ , anyway – but it sounded different this time. More final. Sad.

He smiled at her, shaking his head. "Jane, I'll see you in," he paused to check is watch, "about five hours, at the _most_." She nodded, but he could tell that that didn't make her feel much better. Somehow, without ever having discussed it, they both knew that after this, things probably wouldn't be the same. At least, not without an extreme amount of effort on their part, and there was just no way to know if that was even going to be possible.

"I just…" She looked down, unable to finish her thought.

"I know." She looked back up at him, feeling tears behind her eyes. He nodded, and she got the distinct feeling that that despite the fact that she'd said only two words, which had formed no part of a complete thought whatsoever, somehow he knew exactly what she was saying. It wasn't much of a consolation, but it was something.

"Good night, Jane," he said, backing down another step, now standing on the ground. He hated the look he saw on her face, but there was nothing that he could do about it. _I have to get home. This was always going to end eventually. And besides, it's_ _ **not**_ _the end. The only thing that's over is Jane's time off._ He tried to justify it to himself, but it didn't help very much.

"Good night," she said, looking sad, and finally stepping backwards into the doorway. She knew that he was waiting to see her close and lock the door before he left, in part because it was part of his job to make sure she was safe, but even more importantly, because she knew that he cared about her. Somehow, that only made it that much worse.

Just before she closed the door, she glanced up and saw him, still standing there, watching her intently. That same look was on his face, the one that was always reserved for her. As she closed and locked the door, and then dragged herself wearily upstairs, where she fell straight into bed, she told herself that she would see him in the morning, that it didn't matter that it would be different there. That it would be fine, somehow.

Even if she didn't believe a word of it.

He drove home on autopilot, as he'd done so many times before, and ignored the feeling in his chest. He was exhausted, and it took all of his concentration to stay awake on the drive home. He couldn't afford to be distracted by his emotions… which he kept at bay by sheer willpower alone. It wouldn't be the same, but somehow, it would be fine. He told himself this all the way home, and in the few seconds when he was between awake and asleep.

Even if he didn't believe any of it.

XXX

That night, Jane had another dream, distinctly unlike the nightmare she'd had before. Unlike her previous nightmare, which she'd never brought up with Dr. Borden, this dream – a sex dream, as Dr. Borden seemed annoyingly fixated on – would take her directly to the team's psychologist, panicked, and suddenly there would be talk of boundaries between herself and Weller, something that had never been an issue before, that she'd never _wanted_ before. After that… it was almost as though the previous few weeks – few months, even – seemed to crumble before her eyes. By the end of that day, her first day back, she almost missed having poison ivy, even on the worst day of it, because of what – actually, _who_ – had come along with it.

She could only hope that eventually they'd somehow get past the mess they now found themselves in.

And of course, that she never, never had the misfortune to stumble into poison ivy again.

 _A/N:_

 _Thank you everyone for reading and reviewing this story, which was supposed to be just silly fluff (and while I admit that it wasn't solely fluff, it was closer than I've ever gotten in the past). I hope it kept you amused._

 _A few notes:_

 _First… yes, I know you all wanted them to kiss. And on the show it drives me crazy all the times when they look at each other like they want to kiss, but they don't. And yet… there's something about that tension and all those looks between them that makes what they have so much deeper. And even though I started this idea as silly fluff, the depth of their relationship is one of the things I have always loved most about these two, and one of the things I can't bear to change (even if I do love to exaggerate their cuteness far more than just a little bit). So even though I watch (and rewatch, and rewatch…) the show and wish they would kiss long before 110, the time between 105 and 106 was still too soon. I know I brought them_ _ **painfully**_ _close, many times… and yes, I did it on purpose. Sorry… but not really. :)_

 _Second… at the beginning of the first chapter, I said that this was meant to fit in the time between 105 and 106 (if you can forgive for the fact that there clearly aren't actually supposed to be 19 days in between those two episodes, because, among other things, Jane goes to Weller's for that disastrous dinner in 105 and Mayfair asks him about said dinner in 106 – obviously it wouldn't take her anywhere near that long to find out… but beyond THAT, and maybe a few other things like that…). So now, after the nineteen days of "whatever this is," as Jane said a few chapters ago… now go back and watch 106. It's about 100 (maybe 1,000) times more painful to watch (in my opinion, anyway) than it was the times that I watched that episode before I wrote this story. Now that I've inserted so much more emotion between them, in a way, they have so much more to lose. It's heartbreaking to watch them be so cruel to each other... (Okay, now I need a moment… LOL) Deep breaths. It'll be okay._

 _Jane – I'm sorry I gave you poison ivy, and tortured you with a severe allergic reaction to it. And gave you nightmares, and everything else I did to you in this story. Thank you for being a good sport, and keeping me company in my misery over the past 19 days. But I gave you Weller for company, at least, so hopefully you can forgive me. :)_

 _MonkeyPajamas – I couldn't have done it without your research and brainstorming and mad libs assistance and cheerleading and reviews and awesomeness. Thank you for keeping me company while_ _ ***I***_ _was stuck at home and absolutely_ _ **miserable**_ _with poison ivy myself, even from 9 hours away… let's keep working on that wormhole idea. :)_


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